


I want you to want me

by firstaudrina



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 10 Things I Hate About You, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:29:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/pseuds/firstaudrina
Summary: Thanks to a rule imposed by their super-protective dad Luke, Clary can't date until her ill-tempered older sister Maia does.A10 Things I Hate About YouAU.





	1. New Rules

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will update on Mondays & Thursdays.
> 
> (And I'd be remiss if I didn't cop to the fact that the scene of Jace in the guidance office is fully inspired by one from the _Buffy_ movie.)

When the new girl holds out her hand to him like a princess waiting for him to bow, Simon drops all his books and his coffee in his rush to shake it. That makes her start laughing too hard to properly introduce herself, which is just a fantastic first impression to make on the hot new girl. _Great job, Simon_.

"Sorry, I'm —" Simon releases her so that he can start scooping up textbooks, half of which are drenched by Java Jones black coffee. "Lewis. Simon Lewis. It's two first names, am I still talking?"

She crouches to help him, a surprisingly elegant maneuver in her four-inch heels. "Uh-huh," she says, laughter making her voice musical. "I'm Isabelle Lightwood."

"Right, yes, I know that, I got the —" Simon snatches a soggy index card from a pile of damp homework. The blurred ink on it once bore her name, along with instructions for her official tour at Idris High School. As junior class vice president (he'd run unopposed, which was the only reason he'd bothered in the first place), it was Simon's responsibility to show her around. "Consider me your tour guide."

"Considered, Lewis Simon Lewis," Isabelle says teasingly as they rise, hands full of sopping schoolwork. Simon takes his books from her and shoves them carelessly into his bag. 

"So," he says as they start off down the hall. "Starting a new school senior year, that's tough."

"Is it?" Isabelle wonders. Her gaze travels over the mustard yellow walls and tacked-up posters with oddly focused curiosity, like she's casing the joint. "Here I was hoping it'd be a new and exciting challenge."

The sarcasm is not lost on Simon, a connoisseur of all things sarcastic. He grins. "I'll do my best to make it so."

She laughs again and slips her arm through his, which almost makes Simon drop his bag again. "The two things I need you to point me towards are the labs and the gym," she tells him firmly. "After that, I'm home."

"Okay, but don't get too excited, this is a public school," Simon says.

To get to the third floor labs, they have to cut through the second floor art department. Simon chatters as they go, telling Isabelle this or that about the school, but he can tell by her pleasantly glazed expression that she's not totally listening. And if he's honest, he's not really listening either. He's thinking about the moment fast approaching when they'll step into the art class corridor, when —

When he'll be able to catch Clary through the open door of her classroom, the early morning sun alighting in her red hair. She's standing by the windows and surveying a canvas critically, adding a last minute touch up or two before the homeroom bell forces her elsewhere. She twists her hair up onto her head and pushes a brush through the hasty bun, an image so familiar Simon thinks he could see it even with his eyes closed. 

After a moment Clary looks up, almost like she senses him there. Her smile instantly morphs into something much more ridiculous: her tongue sticks out and nose crinkles, one eye closed and the other opening wide. Simon beams and makes the face back at her.

As soon as Clary has returned to her project, Isabelle sets her chin on Simon's shoulder. "Ah," she says knowingly, following his line of sight. "The boy's in love."

Simon tries to laugh but it comes out more like a strangled cough. "What? No, that's just Clary, she's my best friend."

Isabelle's lips curve a little. "Uh-huh. I know we just met, but I hate to break it to you: you're swooning."

"I'm not, I —" They step away from the door and Simon sighs. "I'm swooning, aren't I?"

"Yep," Isabelle says brightly, but then she gives a faux-offended gasp. "Does this mean all your flirting was just leading me on?"

Simon splutters and stutters for maybe thirty seconds before Isabelle decides to let him out of his misery. She snorts and pats his cheek playfully.

"Relax," she says. "You're cute, but I'm off boys at the moment."

Simon exhales in relief. "Oh, cool."

They continue into the stairwell and start climbing. "Is there a reason you haven't done anything about the best friend?"

"Uh, yeah, we're _best friends_ ," he says, as though it's obvious. "I don't want to mess that up."

"You don't know that it would mess it up. Maybe it'll make things _better_."

Simon shakes his head, dismissing that. "She's not into me like that," he says. "Not that it matters, she can't date."

Isabelle's brow furrows in confusion. "'Can't'?" she repeats. "What, is she under a spell or something?"

Simon laughs. "Sort of," he admits. "Her dad has this rule that she's not allowed to date until she turns eighteen — her or her sister, Maia."

"That's not fair," Isabelle says immediately, frowning. From the look on her face, it's obvious she considers this the height of injustice. "That's not his decision to make. It's theirs."

"He's always been pretty strict, he's a cop, but I think it's gotten a little more intense in the last year." Simon hesitates before adding, "Clary's mom passed away."

"Oh…" Isabelle winces a little, softening. "I'm sorry. But still, you know — it should be up to her when and how and where and with who."

Simon smiles. "I can give you Luke's number, you can take it up with him."

"Don't try me, I might," Isabelle says, bumping Simon's shoulder.

They're just finishing up a quick inspection of the labs (Isabelle is disappointed by the equipment, unsurprisingly) when the bell rings for homeroom, so they motor back downstairs. They take the same path, not entirely by accident; Simon has designs on introducing Isabelle to Clary now that initial awkwardness has worn down into something genuinely friendly. But as soon as he spots Clary's coppery hair in the hall, the other students surge around them and prevent them from getting any closer.

And then _he_ shows up.

Victor Aldertree emerges seemingly from nowhere and sidles up beside Clary, draping an arm around her shoulders that she doesn't shrug off. Simon's stomach sinks like a lead weight. "Oh," he says, stilling, watching the crowd swallow up Clary and Victor. "Him. That's —"

When he returns his attention at Isabelle, he finds his distasteful expression mirrored on her face. "Oh, don't worry, I'm familiar.” She shakes her head at Simon's inquisitive look. "Let's just say Victor Aldertree and I do _not_ get along. What's he doing with your girl?"

"She's not _my_ girl," Simon says. "I — She kind of likes him, I think."

It's not that Simon doesn't get the appeal. Victor is slightly older (Simon is viciously convinced he was left back a year or two, because his stubble is just too luxurious for a normal high school senior) and a hell of a lot smoother than he has any right to be, even if his charisma can easily take a turn into sleaze. Who wouldn't have a crush on him, especially if your other options consisted of a bunch of douchey jocks and one scrappy nerd who used to be terrified of ducks?

Simon's overall vibe must have taken a swan dive towards the tragic, because Isabelle gives him a little smile and reaches up to ruffle his hair. "Buck up, Lewis Simon Lewis," she says. "Let's get a move on before we're late. I was supposed to meet my brother, so he's probably waiting. Did I mention I had a brother?"

 

 

 

Getting yanked into the guidance counselor's office on his first day at a new school is not Jace Wayland's proudest moment, but it’s far from his worst. At least this is only for loitering in the halls after final bell (apparently an unforgiveable offense), though the cigarette hanging from his lips doesn't help. "It isn't _lit_ ," Jace insists. This does not make a difference.

"I was waiting for my sister," Jace says again, impatiently. "Is that a federal crime?"

The counselor, Mr. Hodge, had frantically snapped his laptop shut when Jace entered the room but subsequently reopened it to pull up Jace's information. He's been reading silently for the past five minutes, eyebrows arching up towards his hairline millimeter by millimeter. "O…kay," he says finally. "So I am all caught up on your record."

Jace stares at him. "Uh-huh." 

"It was probably a matter of time before you and I had a chat, huh?"

Jace refrains from mentioning the incriminating content he'd seen on Hodge's computer before he'd navigated over to the school portal. "Really setting a guy up for failure with a comment like that, _huh_?"

"It's only that considering what happened at your last school —"

"Is this really necessary?" Jace interrupts. "You're not trying to tell me I'm actually in trouble for _standing_ , are you? I got lost. These hallways, so labyrinthine." 

"Mr. Wayland, try to think of it like —"

Jace tunes him out automatically, leaning back onto the legs of his chair until he's precariously balanced, tracking the progress of a fly across the ceiling. He eases forward without unseating himself so that he can snag a pushpin from the small container on Hodge's desk, leaning back again and aiming carefully —

The door swings open and Jace lands with a hard _snap_. "Gee, seems like your schedule is just packed," he says, cutting Hodge off once again. "We're done here, yeah?"

Hodge clearly does not believe they're done, but his protests go unheard as Jace grabs his bag and slides out the door past the girl leaning against the frame. He doesn't spare the counselor so much as a backwards glance.

Hodge sighs. Sometimes his life feels like one long sigh. "Ms. Roberts. We meet again."

"Miss me?"

"I would actually love the opportunity to try," Hodge says. "It seems we're making these meetings a weekly ritual."

Maia drops into the chair Jace had just vacated. "Only so we can have these moments together. Should I get the lights?"

Hodge is able to suppress another sigh, but just barely. "Same time as yesterday. Are we terrorizing our AP Literature class yet again?"

"Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist act," Maia says coolly. "And _we_ aren't doing anything."

After a slow, thoughtful nod, Hodge offers, "I hear Cindy McCallaghan's reconstructive rhinoplasty went quite well."

Maia rolls her eyes. "She's overreacting! I was lifting my arm and she bashed her nose into my elbow. It was an accident!"

"She was knocked unconscious," Hodge says.

Maia is unperturbed. "She woke up."

Hodge digs his fingertips into the space between his eyebrows. "The point is, Maia, that people perceive you as somewhat…tempestuous."

Amused, she corrects, "'Heinous bitch' is the term used most often."

"You might want to work on that," Hodge tells her. "These could be the best years of your life, Maia. You should make the most of them."

If that was true, then Maia would have to take herself directly to the Brooklyn Bridge after class and jump off. "As always, Mr. Hodge, thank you for your excellent guidance. I'll be sure to tone down the _tempestuousness_ going forward." She stands and swings her bag over her shoulder, but pauses once she reaches the door. "Nice vocab, by the way. Keep on like that, and you might just be the next E.L. James after all."

The sound of his forehead thwacking the surface of his desk follows her out of the room.

 

 

 

Maia is sitting on the iron railing outside school, waiting for Gretel, when Clary swans past her with Victor Aldertree in tow. They're both utterly unaware of having an audience, particularly one whose stomach turns at the sight of them. They head for the subway but pause at the top of the steps so that Victor can tug the brush from Clary's hair, sending loose red curls tumbling over her shoulders. Clary smiles, and they descend. 

"Did we know about this development?"

Maia glances over to see that Gretel has joined her. She makes herself loosen her too-tight grip on the rails. "We very much did _not_."

Rules never apply to Clary.

Maia is still feeling sour when she pushes open the door of the apartment an hour later, buzzing on the espresso she'd downed during a major bitch session with Gretel. Finding her dad standing right in the middle of the foyer, stance wide and arms crossed, does not help her mood. It's his cop pose, so he must be ready to interrogate. Lucky her.

"Expecting me?" she asks, dropping her keys into the dish by the doorway. "Or is this what you do all day while we're at school?"

Luke waves an envelope in the air. "What is this?"

"I don't know. Can't you read?"

"Maia." His tone indicates that he has no patience for her attitude, not that that's ever put a stop to her before. "This is a letter of acceptance from the University of California. _San Diego_."

Maia experiences a jolt of pure, genuine excitement as she snatches the envelope from him and dives onto the couch with it. She doesn't even care that he opened her mail. "I got in!" she says triumphantly, resisting the urge to kick her feet like a kid. " _I got in_!"

"To a school in San Diego!" Luke says again. He makes it sound like it's on Mars. "I thought you were gonna stay local, live at home, save some money."

"I never agreed to that." She sits up, folding her legs under her. "Their marine biology program is great."

"So is the one at Columbia."

"But this —" Maia holds the letter aloft. "Is the one I want." 

Luke obviously has another argument in store, but before he can get wound up again, Clary innocently wanders in, snacking on a yogurt. "What's going on?"

Maia decides to seize the opportunity being afforded to her. "Why don't you ask Clary who took her home today."

"This is not about —" Luke starts, but predictably gets throw off course immediately. God forbid someone unapproved gets near the princess. "Who took you home?"

Clary's expression reads, very clearly, _are you fucking kidding me?_

Maia shrugs.

"Just a friend from school," Clary says.

"An _older, male_ friend from school," Maia corrects.

Luke rubs his hands over his face and gestures Clary towards the couch, where she reluctantly plops down next to Maia. "If you're going to give us another 'Detective Garroway Has Seen So Many Horrors On The Streets Of New York' speech —" she starts, but he quiets her with a look.

"I trust those have sunk in by now," Luke says. "But you know there are certain rules in this house. You will have the rest of your lives to date as much as you want, but right now I want to make sure you're focusing on the right things — doing well in school, figuring out your place in the world. Enjoying what's left of your childhood, especially considering how fast you've both had to grow up."

Both girls sit silently for a moment, eyes trained on opposite corners of the apartment. Maia is the first to speak — with a complaint, as usual. "You say that, but you can't even celebrate me getting into my dream school."

"And how are we supposed to enjoy ourselves if we can't do anything the other kids our age are doing?" Clary adds. "I feel like a Mormon. I'm the only girl at school who doesn't date."

"That's not true," Luke says. "Your sister doesn't date."

"She doesn't want to!" Clary exclaims. "I just want to go to the stupid prom and be _normal_. What is the big deal?"

"Dad doesn't want your honor besmirched by some sleazeball with more balls than brains," Maia remarks. Luke points at her like she'd just shared the greatest piece of wisdom in the universe. "Which describes just about half our student body."

"You can be very trusting, Clary," Luke says. "I don't want to see that trust betrayed."

Maia tries not to roll her eyes. Clary just huffs, arms crossed petulantly over her chest. Luke studies them both, seeming torn, but then straightens up, resolved.

"Okay, okay," he says. "Here's how we solve this: old rule out, new rule in. Clary can date." Maia almost bites her tongue on how _unfair_ it is that he _always_ gives in with her. "When Maia does."

Taken aback, neither of them reacts for a moment. Then Clary says, "But she doesn't — what if she _never_ dates?"

"Then you'll never date," Luke says simply, and graces them with a charming, self-satisfied smile. "Ah, I like that."

Maia does roll her eyes then. "Don't hold your breath," she grumbles, pushing off the couch and heading for the kitchen. Luke is quick on her heels, starting in on her about college yet again, but for a minute Clary just sits on the couch, trying not to be too blissfully excited where someone might see her.

Moments later she's sprawled out on her bed, fingers tapping impatiently on her quilt as she waits for Simon to pick up the phone. He usually answers right away, but today it rings on and on in her ear for nearly a minute. When they finally do connect, she thinks he might have butt-answered: all she can hear is muffled laughter, the distant sound of Simon speaking and some girl replying with a giggle.

"Simon?"

His hello is so bright that it almost erases the unease coiling in her chest. Almost.

"Is…someone there?"

"Yeah," Simon says easily. "Isabelle —" The girl says something and he corrects, " _Izzy_ and I are down at Java Jones."

He hadn't even invited her. "Izzy?"

"Yeah, you know, the new girl? You guys have got to meet tomorrow, I think it'll be love at first sight."

"I'm sure," Clary says slowly. "So you're hanging out."

There's a beat before Simon responds, and it's just long enough that Clary squirms. "Yeah, I mean… That's okay, right?"

She makes herself laugh. "No, that's unacceptable. I am your only friend. It's in the bylaws. Come on."

Clary can picture his wary smile, his confusion. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Look who you're talking to, Fray. Something's up, I can tell."

"Nothing's up," Clary insists, clearing her throat before she continues, "No, it's — it's just that I have some good news, actually." She lets him in on the changes to her dad's edict, that hopeful feeling filling her up again. "I know Maia's not really into it, obviously, but she's so pretty and she can be so great when she wants to be. There's totally a chance she'll decide to go out with someone. And who knows? My social life might blossom after all."

 

 

 

After reassuring Clary that there's a solid chance her sister will go on at least one date before the year is up, Simon ends the call. Nothing has changed, not really, but there's something fizzing in his chest all the same. Possibility. There's possibility now. 

Java Jones is still bustling with students from Idris at this time of the day, but it's raucous enough inside that Simon doesn't bother to keep his voice down as he passes the update along to Izzy. She listens eagerly, cherry lips pursed around the straw of her frappuccino, as though this is better than any late night drama she's ever watched. 

"I noticed Maia at school, with that girl with the silver hair. She's cute, but she seemed kind of…" Izzy reflects on that one sighting. Maia had kneed Raj in the balls in the lunch line; Izzy respected it. "Antisocial?"

Simon nods a little, thoughtful. "She used to be pretty popular, but then she just…got sick of it, or something." The slightest of smiles graces his lips. "We almost had a thing once." Izzy's eyebrows shoot up, which makes him laugh. "I know. _Almost_ is the key word, though. She brushed me off before anything got even close to happening."

"Was it because of their mom?"

"Clary's mom," Simon says absently. "I don't know, maybe, it was around that time." He tries not to think about what happened to Jocelyn because it makes his chest ache sharply, like the feeling of breathlessness before panic sets in. The sudden shock and violence of the accident never dulled, no matter how many months passed.

Izzy is all sympathy. "They deserve some fun," she says with intense conviction, as though she might get on the table and give a speech about it. "You too."

Simon ducks his head with a laugh, but something in her tone catches his attention. There's a promise in her words, like she's going to make sure they have fun, or else. "You don't mean…"

Izzy's eyes are bright. "We find the perfect guy, casually set something up… And boom, you're free to ask out Clary. Everyone's happy."

"I'm not sure your math checks out there."

"Well, I am a _thousand percent_ sure that — Can we help you?" Her voice takes an abrupt turn into edgy irritation, which is when Simon notices that Victor and his cronies Raj and Duncan have set up shop at the next table over. He's studying them now, but that might be because of Izzy snapping at him.

"Just intrigued by the workings of your mind, Isabelle," Victor purrs. "Positively Machiavellian."

"My question was rhetorical," Izzy snits. One hand closes around the strap of her purse and the other grips a fistful of Simon's shirt. "Let's get out of here. I don't love the clientele."

Victor watches them leave, and he's smiling. 

 

 

 

Victor Aldertree has been standing nearby looking smug and attentive for maybe Jace's last two cigarettes, which is a long time if one were to count up the minutes. Jace had been hopeful that ignoring the problem would make it go away, but it seems that's not an effective strategy with this guy. It never has been.

"What, Victor?"

Without a field to call their own in Brooklyn, the school has outsourced to the nearest park. Students mill around, and a gym class is going on in the grass across from Jace's bench. He came here to escape the stifling cafeteria and fill the fresh air with his own personal carbon monoxide. 

"Hello to you too, Jace," Victor says pleasantly. "You know, I was terribly hurt you and Isabelle didn't come find me when you transferred." 

Dryly, Jace says, "My condolences. I'll be sure to call on you at your earliest convenience."

Victor takes a seat beside Jace even though he hadn't extended an invitation. Easy and handsome, Victor makes himself comfortable, looping an arm around the back of the bench and stretching out his long legs in front of him. "I have a proposition for you." 

"No thanks. Bye."

"You haven't even heard what it is."

"I don't need to."

Far from being frustrated, Victor smiles. "Have you become acquainted with Clary Fray and Maia Roberts in your time here yet?"

"No," Jace says. "But I have a feeling you're about to illuminate me."

"Right you are, Wayland. Now, don't let the different last names fool you: the girls are sisters. And they're in a little bit of a predicament. Their very protective father won't let Clary be the belle of the ball unless Maia has someone on her arm, too."

Jace flicks ash in the direction of Victor's sneakers. "Is he a character in a Jane Austen novel?"

"Hilarious," Victor says. "I was thinking you could help me out, to help them out."

Confused, Jace asks, "How is any of this my problem?"

"It's not," Victor replies. "I'm suggesting you make it your problem. Take Maia out for a little rough and tumble, which I imagine you'll both enjoy." His arm settles suddenly around Jace's shoulders so Victor can draw him forward and point out one of the girls playing soccer across the way: her curly hair is gathered into a little puff on top of her head, her face serious and determined as she slams another girl to the ground. With his other hand, Victor pulls a tight roll of bills from his pocket. "She might not make it worth your while, but I will."

Jace has to laugh. "You're gonna pay me to take out some girl? Fuck off, man."

"Come on, Jace, consider it. I've never known you to turn down chasing after some girl. Especially one so _extreme_."

"I'm not usually on payroll to do it."

"I'm just trying to sweeten the pot," Victor says. "After all, I'd hate to have to use less polite methods."

Jace jerks away from Victor's arm and stares at him with narrowed eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Victor smiles. He talks slowly, so it all sinks in. "Look, I know it's important to you — and to Isabelle — that you have a fresh start after everything that happened last year. I'd hate to see all that get out. It would be pretty bad if it did, wouldn't it? Especially for her."

Disbelief makes Jace laugh. "Are you for real?"

Victor shrugs, smile still on his face, and reaches over to tuck the money into the pocket of Jace's motorcycle jacket. "I'm only suggesting you ask out a pretty girl who needs a date. I'll even foot the bill for dinner. What's that in exchange for a little discretion?"

"You're an asshole," Jace says flatly. But his gaze is pulled back to the girl — to Maia — as she kicks the ball straight past the goalie and into the net. Her victorious smile is tight and hard.

So he goes out on a couple of dates. What's the harm in that?

 

 

 

Jace drifts in Maia's direction as soon as the game breaks up. She's in gym clothes, a pair of navy sweats and an oversized school t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up over her shoulders. Perspiration lends her skin a sheen, and she's patting it from her forehead with a towel when he speaks.

"Hey there," Jace says, flashing his most winning grin. "How you doing?"

Her eyes peer at him over the towel, one eyebrow quirked. "Sweating like a pig, actually. And yourself?"

It's not what he expects, and he can't control the expression that crosses his face in response: a little surprise, some confusion, and genuine amusement. "Now there's a way to get a guy's attention."

"My mission in life," she says. "And obviously I struck your fancy, so you know it works. The world makes sense again."

She doesn't wait for him to reply before she starts back towards the school, leaving Jace to scramble slightly to stay in step with her. "Pick you up on Friday, then?"

She snorts. "Oh, right, Friday, uh-huh."

Jace tries the smile again and leans in close to her, lowers his voice. "I can take you places you've never been before."

Maia stares at him like he has three heads. "Like where, the 7-Eleven on Atlantic? Do you even know my name, pretty boy?"

That's encouraging. Full of suggestion, he murmurs, "I know a lot more than you think."

There's a spark in Maia's brown eyes, something that makes Jace think this is going to be easy after all — until she sticks her sneakered foot right in his path and sends him careening to the ground.

"Doubtful," Maia says, walking away. "Very doubtful."

Jace pushes himself up but stays kneeling for a moment, brushing dirt off his palms and laughing a little. Then, unexpectedly, he feels hands on his shoulders tugging him upwards.

"Making a love connection?" Izzy asks.

"Mm, you know it," Jace tells her. "If I had pigtails, she'd have pulled them." 

"It's funny that she's the one you were talking to," Izzy muses. "Because I was going to suggest you ask her out. Looks like you beat me to the punch."

Why did everyone want this girl to get a date so bad?

"Yeah, you know, I love it when they're mean to me," he says.

"The cute thing is, you think you're joking." 

"So why were you trying to set me up on our second day at school?"

"Well…" The explanation Izzy launches into is surreal enough to make Jace laugh, but he doesn't. He doesn't know which episode of _The Twilight Zone_ he's woken up in today, but the novelty is wearing off.

"This Clary girl is popular, huh," is all he says. "What's the deal with that?"

"She's cute," Izzy says with a shrug. "So. You're already into Maia. Does the plan work for you?"

Doing a favor for his sister is a better position to be in than getting blackmailed by the biggest asshole in school. If he’s already doing one, he might as well do the other. "Sure thing," Jace says, and leaves.

Simon is at Izzy's side as soon as Jace is out of sight. " _That guy_ is your brother? Oh man, I heard he stole a motorcycle from a dive bar once. That he got stabbed in the heart _and lived_."

Izzy rolls her eyes. "Don’t be so gullible, Simon. And give him some props. He's doing you a major favor."


	2. Thai Food & Feminist Prose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jace drapes an arm over the back of his chair so his already too-tight shirt tugs tighter against his body. "Maybe you're not afraid of me, but I'm sure you've thought about me naked."
> 
> Her entire body slumps with a kind of incredulous disappointment that those words would even leave his mouth, or maybe that he thought they'd ever work on her. She just gives up on him. "Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby."

Clary hesitates at the open door of the bathroom, just watching for a moment as Maia twists curls around her fingers, reshapes and smoothes them. The bathroom is neutral territory, so it feels okay for her to step inside and peer in the mirror over Maia's shoulder, pretending to adjust her own hair just to have a reason to be in there. 

"Can I help you?" Maia asks flatly. 

Clary tries for a sunny smile. "You look really cute today."

Maia turns around and leans her hip against the sink, arms crossed. "Are you for real? You think if you toss a couple faux-compliments my way, I'll go all soft and gooey and let some boy take me to the movies just so Victor Aldertree can feel you up on the G train?"

"Can't I just be nice?" Clary protests, irritation in her voice. "Why do you have to be so hostile?"

"I'm not hostile, I'm annoyed," Maia says. 

"Yeah, and maybe you wouldn't be if you gave people a chance," Clary counters. "If you let yourself relax once in a while instead of always being on the defensive."

"I'm sorry, did I invite you in here for a therapy session? Oh, that's right, I didn't invite you in at all. I was minding my own business. Maybe you should mind yours."

Clary is undeterred. That tenaciousness is one of the most annoying things about her; Maia's always trying to find its threshold. "We have to talk about things! Look, after Mom died —"

" _Your_ mother died," Maia snaps. " _My_ mother left. Jocelyn was not my mother."

Clary's expression changes so fast it's like she's been slapped. The words ring between them for a moment, but before Maia can say another word, Clary says, "I'm sorry _my_ mom married _your_ dad and ruined the rest of your life. I'll mind my business from now on."

She turns on her heel to go, forcing Maia to step out into the hallway and call after her, something she's done plenty of times before even if no one wants to believe she's capable of apologies. Clary doesn't even pause. Her bedroom door slams hard enough that the pictures on the walls rattle.

As though summoned by the sound, Luke appears at the end of the hall. He raises his eyebrows at Maia, arms crossed.

"What?" she exclaims. "It's always me, right?"

"Maia," he sighs.

Maia is always the instigator. She's always the one antagonizing the little sister she'd never asked for. She's the one busting her ass at school and at work so that she won't have to take a penny from Luke for college. She's the one who's treated like a leper at school just for daring to demand that her space is respected, just for voicing her opinions. She's always taking the brunt, taking the blame, while Clary breezes through everything, whining about not getting to go to the sock hop. Big fucking deal.

"You can't coddle her forever," Maia says. "She has to learn what it's like when the entire world doesn't bend to her whims." 

"This isn't about that," Luke says. "Hell, I'm not even sure this is about Clary at all."

"Right, because she could never be the problem."

"You're angry, I get it." Cop talk again: the interrogator positions himself on the same side as the perp, creates a bond he can exploit later. "But you can't take it out on the rest of us."

Unrepentant, Maia says, "Why not?"

"Because it's misguided. You're punishing me because I don’t want you running across the country. Is that such a bad thing?"

Maia doesn't mince words in response. "Aren't you punishing me because Mom left?"

Luke is even-tempered even at the worst of times, able to keep a cool head in nearly every situation. But she can see the effect this has on him. The one sore spot they've never really talked about. "You think you could leave her out of this?"

Maia crosses her arms, mirroring him. "Fine. Then stop trying to make my decisions for me."

"I am your father, that is my right."

"So what I want doesn't matter?"

"You're eighteen, you don't know what you want!"

But he's wrong; Maia knows exactly what she wants, and she's not willing to compromise. "I want to go to a west coast school," she says. "I want you to trust me to make my own choices and I want you to stop trying to control my life because you can't control yours!"

"You know what I want?" Luke demands. The growing anger in his voice makes the words echo. But Maia doesn't get to find out the answer, because the ringing of his phone cuts through the tension with a persistence that can't be ignored. When he glances at the screen, he releases a frustrated breath. "It's Ollie." He picks up, but he tells her firmly, "We'll continue this later."

Maia just rolls her eyes. "Can't wait," she says, turning back into the bathroom and yanking the door closed behind her. 

Home is one slammed door after another.

 

 

 

A restaurant located in the middle of a dock wouldn't normally be Jace's first choice for dinner, but he's heard good things about the service at the Jade Wolf so he's willing to give it a try. When he ducks through the door, he's immediately submerged in warmth and noise and bustle, but he still locates Maia instantly across the room. She's got a loaded tray balanced on one arm, flashing an uncharacteristic smile at a table of patrons as she sets down dish after dish. Jace asks for a table in her section.

She plucks a pencil from behind her ear as she steps up next to his chair, tapping it once against her pad of paper. "What can I — you have got to be fucking kidding me."

Jace graces her with a bright, upturned smile; she returns a flat, humorless stare. "Cute apron," he says. "I'm Jace, by the way, did you know that?"

Her expression makes it clear that she does not care. "Are you following me?"

"I'm just here for dinner," Jace says, all innocence. "I hear the Kung Pao chicken is out of this world."

She arches an eyebrow. "Is that what you want?"

Jace doesn't answer, instead leaning forward on his folded arms. "Not a big talker, huh?"

"Depends on the topic," she says. "My apron doesn't exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy."

There's a touch of dry humor in her voice that tugs a less manipulative smile out of him. No one at school talks to him like he's a normal person; it's been all whispers and rumors, Hodge's lowered expectations and Aldertree's extortion. "You're not afraid of me, are you?"

"Afraid of you?" she repeats, confused but too impatient to care much, pencil against paper again. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

"Most people are."

Maia pushes the open menu towards him, a silent encouragement. "Well, I'm not."

Jace drapes an arm over the back of his chair so his already too-tight shirt tugs tighter against his body. "Maybe you're not afraid of me, but I'm sure you've thought about me naked."

Her entire body slumps with a kind of incredulous disappointment that those words would even leave his mouth, or maybe that he thought they'd ever work on her. She just gives up on him. "Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby." She drums her fingers on the plastic menu. "Order. Now or never." 

"Surprise me." 

Maia rolls her eyes and shoves off. Jace's gaze tracks her all the way back to the kitchen but when he faces forward again, he's greeted with his own unpleasant surprise.

"Are _you_ following _me?_ " he asks Victor.

Victor has been installed at a nearby table. He smiles blandly at Jace. "This certainly seems like a popular spot, doesn't it?" He rackets up the charm as Maia comes back into view. "And there's my favorite waitress."

"Bite me," Maia says.

"That's not very nice. Aren't you going to come take my order?"

Maia's arms are taken up with yet another weighty tray that she carries like it's nothing, clearly too busy for Victor's bullshit. "I'll get to you when I get to you."

"That's fine." His eyes sweep over her, lingering at the hem of her skirt. "I'll just enjoy the view until then."

Irritation locks Maia's jaw so tight that Jace can practically see her teeth grinding. He rises halfway to intervene but before he can take a step, she's taken the last thing on her tray — a full-to-the-brim, steaming bowl of wonton soup — and upended it over Victor's lap. He jumps up with a shriek of real pain, table and chair skidding apart forcefully.

"Sorry," Maia says. "Did that kill your boner?"

Jace is laughing so hard he has to sit down again.

This causes a minor melee in the restaurant. The manager and hostess arrive to lavish Victor with apologies while he furiously tries to dry himself with a handful of paper napkins; Maia, meanwhile, is called sharply into the back office, where Jace assumes she'll be getting in a lot of trouble. He wonders if this means his dinner is cancelled.

His helpless laughter attracts Victor's attention and gives him a target for his boiling, impotent anger. "I hope you know," he snarls, "that watching your girl disfigure me doesn't count as a date."

"Are you sure?" Jace wonders. "Dinner was involved, and everyone had a good time."

"Get the hell on with it, Wayland." Victor shrugs off the staff and throws down the stack of dampened napkins. "Make this worth my while."

Humor dies on Jace's lips. "You want expedited service, you gotta pay for it."

Victor scoffs. "You've got to be kidding me. Forget it."

Careless, Jace says, "Forget her sister then."

Scowling, Victor reaches for his wallet and drops another thick fold of bills on the table. Jace receives them with a smile. When Victor storms out moments later, Jace tucks the money under a corner of the napkin holder. On his way towards the door, he makes sure to tell the hostess that he left Maia a tip.

 

 

 

Isabelle lets herself into Jace's room without asking and dives onto his bed in a whirl of uninvited hair. "Why haven't you asked out Maia yet?"

"Hey, Jace, good to see you, how was your day?" he mimics, knuckles striking hard and fast against the bag he set up in the corner. "It was great, Izzy, thanks for asking. I didn't see you at lunch, how was your day?"

Isabelle throws one of his pillows at him, and Jace swats it away with a laugh. "We stopped having to exchange pleasantries when Mom signed the adoption papers," she says. "Question still stands."

"I did." Jace pauses, rolls his shoulders, and strikes again. "Believe it or not, I don't think she's into me. Turns out there's one girl out there immune to my charms."

"Hmm." Izzy considers this. "Alright. I _may_ be willing to help you out here. Simon knows her pretty well, I can do a little reconnaissance."

Jace shoots her a curious look as he stills the bag with one hand and pushes his hair out of his eyes with the other. "When did you get so obsessed with playing matchmaker?"

"Are you complaining?"

"Just noting," Jace says, eyebrows raised. "Seriously, Izzy, what gives? Sure, you like me, but you barely know these people."

"Don't be so sure I like you."

A deeply unimpressed silence is his only response.

Izzy sighs and sits up, hair spilling over one shoulder and half-hiding her face like a planned evasive maneuver. "It's just easier for me to focus on people besides myself right now."

Jace softens, easy as that. "I thought you were _supposed_ to be focusing on you right now."

"I am," she insists. "But everyone needs a hobby, so let me handle this, okay?"

Who is he to argue?

 

 

 

Clary usually spends her lunch period alone in the art room, paintbrush in one hand and sandwich in the other. Today, however, she's entertaining — or rather being entertained by — Victor Aldertree. But she's not really listening to a word he's saying, and she suspects it might be better that way.

Victor has an expressive face and Clary doesn't mind having him around to look at even if his tales about the world of commercial modeling leave a lot to be desired. He makes sure she knows (at length, multiple times) that it's just a bit of fun before he takes over the family business. But his skills in front of the camera can only help with marketing. He says the word "billboard" more than once.

Being the subject of his focus is a unique experience. Clary's had crushes and even a secret date or two, but never a senior passing up time with his friends so he could watch her paint the city skyline. There's something intoxicating about that. 

As his fifteen minute monologue comes to a close, Clary notices Victor studying her so intently that she's afraid she missed her cue to give him the "yeah, right, totally" that seems to pass for satisfying conversation. Then he says, "That stoner kid Meliorn is throwing a party next weekend. I hear his parents are out of town."

"He's not a stoner, he's an environmentalist."

Victor disregards that. "Either way, he's always got weed." He tilts his head. "So, will you be there?"

Clary feels herself getting a little pink and wishes she could blame it on the early afternoon sunlight streaming in the windows. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good." Victor smiles and leans in to kiss her on the cheek, soft and gentlemanly. "Because I won't bother going if you don't."

He sees himself out after that, but Clary barely has a second to savor before Simon and Isabelle are surging in. Apparently they're inseparable now, though it's hard to be snippy about Isabelle stealing Clary's best friend when she's so aggressively _sweet_. She comes right up to Clary and takes both of her hands, gazing earnestly into her eyes as she says, "I have kind of a big favor to ask you."

"Please tell me you don't need a kidney," Clary says.

Isabelle laughs, delighted. "Not at the current moment, but I'll remember that. No. This favor's a lot more middle school."

Simon supplies, "Her brother has a crush on your sister. Circle yes if you'll help him win her over."

Clary bites her lip, eyes flicking between them. "Help how?"

Not five minutes later, Clary is breaking into Maia's locker while Isabelle stands by, with Simon stationed halfway down the hall to act as a lookout. It's not something Clary would normally do, but she's all mixed up inside about Maia these days; it's hard to tell whether resentment or the desperate desire to please is winning. Doing something sneaky for the greater good feels like an okay way to split the difference. 

"Do you know what kind of guys she's into?" Isabelle asks. "Wait, I should have asked this first: is she even into guys?"

"As far as I know." Clary twists the combination lock fruitlessly. "Once I heard her say she'd die before dating a guy who smoked." Isabelle grimaces, but Clary continues, "And she used to watch _Romeo + Juliet_ on like a daily basis when we were kids. Kept a poster on the inside of her closet door." She smiles. "Not great for her rep."

Isabelle smiles, too. "That could be a good sign."

"I'll take your word for it." Thinking of Maia's secret softness, Clary tries a different series of numbers: their parents' wedding anniversary. It clicks open. "Wow. Didn't expect that to work."

Isabelle whisper-shouts _we're in!_ to an anxious Simon while Clary rifles around for anything useful. She gets Maia's class schedule, a hastily scrawled reading list, a dog-eared copy of _Jane Eyre_ , and a pair of concert tickets. Isabelle peers over her shoulder before taking the tickets out of her hand. 

"Oh, perfect, our older brother's boyfriend owns this place." Clary's raised eyebrow makes Isabelle grin. "I know, impressive, right?"

Armed with enough of Maia's likes (which include Thai food, feminist prose, and up-and-coming female rappers) to make an impression, they put everything back where they found it. While making sure it's messy but not _too_ disturbed, Clary asks casually, "So how's it going with you and Simon?"

Clary can feel Isabelle studying her, her neck hot with embarrassment. She doesn't look back. After a moment Isabelle shrugs and leans against the lockers, glancing thoughtfully in Simon's direction. "I don't know," she says, voice playful. "He _is_ kind of nerd hot, isn't he?"

"Yeah, sure, he's really…" Clary clears her throat and closes the combination lock with a snap. "All done here!"

Isabelle beams and hooks a friendly arm around her, making Clary feel worse for poking around in a situation that definitely isn't her business. "You're a lifesaver."

"More like a romantic cat-burglar." 

"Cupid has curious methods," Isabelle says wisely.

 

 

 

Jace puts up a token protest, but when Saturday rolls around he lets Izzy dress him up and send him off to Pandemonium so he can have his scheduled run-in with Maia during the show. He'd never cop to it out loud, but there's anticipation prickling in his chest as he makes his way past the people eagerly lined up outside the club doors. Maia is unpredictable. He'd like to see what she does next. 

The bouncer waves him through with barely a glance, familiar with Jace thanks to his family connection. He makes sure to stop by the V.I.P. section to thank Magnus again for the ticket, not to mention the short sermon on tonight's headliner; Magnus had been so offended by Jace's ignorance that he felt compelled to educate him, which Jace appreciated. Saved him the Google.

After Magnus dismisses him, Jace turns his attention to the packed dance floor. 

Gretel Monroe's white hair shines like a beacon in the center of the undulating crowd, made alternately blood red or electric blue by the washes of neon light flooding from the stage. Maia is right beside her. She's untethered in a way Jace hasn't seen her before, dancing with her arms above her head and her eyes closed. She's laughing, spinning, her head tipped back in such a way that the garish lighting blots out everything except her smile. 

Jace doesn't interrupt her. He takes himself to the bar instead to try and wheedle a beer from the bartender, even though Dot has met him before and knows very well he's under twenty-one. He's not sure what his next step is yet but he's willing to down a drink or two until he figures it out.

But Maia gets there first. She wedges herself in next to him and calls for water, bare shoulders and collarbones glazed with sweat from dancing. Her hand alights on his shoulder briefly when the crowd jostles her, and she apologizes before she realizes who she's talking to. "Sorry, I —" He expects a barb, but what he gets is, "Hey, Big Spender. Taking a night off from bugging people at their places of work?"

"No, actually," Jace says. "My brother-in-law's here somewhere."

It doesn't seem like she totally believes that as she reaches over the bar to accept two bottles of water. "If you're planning on asking me out again, you might as well just get it over wi—"

"Do you mind?" Jace has to shout to be heard over the next song, and he gestures towards the stage to make himself clear. "You're kind of ruining this for me."

Her brow furrows. "You listen to this?"

Jace gives her a quick grin. "I'm listening to it right now."

Maia shakes her head slightly as she puts her lips to an opened bottle, but her eyes linger on him: the tattoo peeking over the collar of his shirt, the dull shine of the gray vinyl pants Izzy had insisted he wear. She takes a contemplative sip of water. "Did you think this was a leather bar?"

"They're vinyl." She started it so he lets himself look her over in return, though he'd already taken note of the strapless burgundy top with its sheen that might very well be leather, the oversized hoops and thin silver choker. "And you're one to talk."

"I pull it off," she says with casual flair before hopping down from the bar to rejoin the throng. He can't disagree.

Jace follows at her heels. He's forced to talk louder the closer they get to the blaring speakers, and he leans in close enough that her curls brush his cheek. The song spirals into a crashing crescendo. "You know, I was watching you out there. I've never seen you look —" And the music dies right before the final words leave his mouth, "So sexy," almost echoing in the sudden quiet. 

All the people in their vicinity titter, but the incredible part is that Maia laughs too. It's brief and unexpected like a hiccup, but it happens. Jace smiles and rubs self-consciously at the back of his neck. "My sister's ex-something-or-other is throwing a party next weekend," he says. "What do you say?"

Amusement is still curling Maia's mouth when she replies, "You never give up, do you?"

"Was that a yes?"

"Nope." She weaves through the crowd on her way back to Gretel.

"Well, then was that a no?" Jace calls after her.

Maia glances back at him, almost swallowed by the crowd. "No!"

Jace grins. "I'll see you at nine thirty then!"


	3. Blind Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maia's eyes open slowly, dreamily. "Hey," she says, her upturned face utterly without anger or artifice. "One of your eyes is brown. I never noticed."
> 
> Jace smiles at her. And she throws up on his boots.

Clary sits patiently while Isabelle twists strands of her hair back from her face and affixes them in place with copper bobby pins. She's not entirely sure who decided that Isabelle would be coming over today to help her get ready for the party, but she's glad all the same; she hadn't realized how much she'd been craving a connection with another girl until now. "Simon's great and everything, but he doesn't know anything about hair," she jokes.

Isabelle smirks. "Or the function of macromolecules. But I'll admit the hair skills are handier for parties." 

They both laugh, and it feels so impossibly _nice_ for Clary to have her tiny little world opened up, to be frivolous and giggle with someone new over the same old things. "My mom always used to braid my hair," Clary tells her. 

Isabelle's smile softens and she squeezes Clary's shoulders.

Once they're all dolled up — Clary in a patchwork silk dress with a handkerchief hem that she'd saved up birthday money to buy, and Isabelle in a tight red bandage dress — they ease down the hallway with their shoes in their hands, hoping not to tiptoe onto the floorboards that creak.

But Luke's voice rings out anyway: "Should've taken the fire escape."

Both girls start and then turn, their shoulders relaxing with reluctant acceptance. It's too late; they're caught.

"My heels kept slipping through the grating," Isabelle admits.

"The downside of sneaking out," Luke remarks reasonably. "Now. You don't look like you're going somewhere to study, and I don't recall granting anyone permission for anything else."

Clary steps forward to make her appeal, hands clasped innocently behind her and fingers still tangled in the straps her hopeful heels. "Dad. It's just a little get-together of friends —"

Maia, passing from bedroom through living room to kitchen, interjects, "It's a party."

"Maia!" Clary hisses, but pastes a smile back on when Luke's eyes lock on her. "Just a _little_ party, not even —"

"Party?" Luke repeats. "Party? No, I absolutely did not give permission for a _party_." 

"Dad, there are people waiting for me there and —"

Luke is immovable. "New rule," he reminds her. "If Maia's not going, you're not going. And it doesn't seem to me like she's planning on going anywhere."

Head buried in the fridge, Maia groans. She straightens up in anticipation of the rapid pattering of Clary's feet as she rushes to beg Maia instead. Luke has some nerve passing his parenting on to her. Now she has to be the bad guy.

"Maia, Maia, _please_ , we don't even have to stay for very long —"

Maia sets down the leftovers she'd been about to dive into and closes the fridge. "What do you expect to get out of this?"

"Drinking, dancing, _fun_ ," Clary says. "It's not a crisis situation."

"No, just a boring one," Maia says. "Booze makes guys feel like they have an excuse to act like assholes — which they already manage just fine most of the time. Nothing was ever gained from a house party except a hangover. I have better ways to spend my time. I'd hope you did too."

This has no effect on the kittenish cajoling on Clary's face. "I wouldn't know, because I've never gotten the chance to find out." Her tone is urgent. "You can say I told you so tomorrow, but for one night can't you forget you know better and be my sister? Please. Please, Maia, do this for me. Please."

There's a tic in Maia's jaw but it's no use — her heart is melting. "Fine," she snaps. "I'll make an appearance."

Clary turns to Isabelle with a resounding cheer and they both do a jumpy little dance that Maia ignores to go tug on her jacket. Luke is visibly dismayed that his chief lieutenant has stepped out of line. "Oh god. It's starting."

"It's just a party," Clary says happily. She's hopping from one foot to the other as she puts on her shoes and buckles them closed.

Maia gets her keys. "T minus five seconds!"

"No drinking, no drugs, no kissing, no sex, no tattoos, no piercings, no ritualistic animal sacrifices _of any kind_ —" Luke's edicts follow them out the front door and down the stairs to the main entrance, even though none of the girls are even pretending to listen to him. Maia pushes through the door to the street, but stops short before even one foot has crossed the threshold. Oblivious, Clary and Isabelle collide into her, then peep over her shoulders to see what the holdup is.

Jace is standing beside the motorcycle he'd parked directly in front of the house, pulling off his helmet with a toss of blonde hair. "Hey," he says. "Sorry I'm late."

"Absolutely no motorcycles," Luke declares.

Maia doesn't react to either of them, instead descending the steps and striding towards the subway station at the end of the block without waiting for anyone. "Whatever."

Jace grins at Izzy, and she winks back.

 

 

 

They go their separate ways almost immediately upon arrival. Isabelle announces that she has to give her regards to the host, with a twinkle in her eye that indicates doing so may take a while. A cute girl with glasses converges on Jace, insisting that she's in his web design class, and Maia leaves him to it without even exerting the energy needed to roll her eyes. Typical.

She hadn't noticed Clary being swept away until she sees her hand-in-hand with Aldertree across the room. He's making Clary spin so he can inspect at her dress, the uneven hem flaring out prettily around her. Maia frowns. She might have buckled and brought Clary here, but she wasn't going to let her be made a fool of. What else were sisters for?

"Hi, Victor," Maia says, faux-brightly, upon charging over. "Still got third degree burns on your dick?"

Clary's eyes go wide enough to see the whites all around the pupil, and she grabs Maia's arm to carry her off a few feet. Maia jerks out of her grip. "What are you doing? We just got here! Chill out."

"Need I remind you that jerk got me _fired_ —"

"I think dumping soup on a customer was what got you fired," Clary says impatiently. "He's not the devil, okay?"

"He's not Prince Charming, either. He doesn't care about _you_ , he's just after fresh meat."

Clary makes a frustrated noise, and the stifled anger in it takes Maia by surprise. "You think Dad is always trying to control you, but that's what you do to me. I'll hang around with whoever I want. It's my decision. You want me to mind my business all the time? Mind yours."

She stalks back to a too-triumphant Victor while Maia is left standing there, stung. She swallows hard around the lump in her throat and when she sees a girl passing by with several shots carefully balanced in her hands, Maia swallows one of those too. Then another for good measure.

Jace is at her side moments later. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"

Sure, after Glasses had finished with him. "I'm getting trashed, man," Maia says. "Isn't that what you're supposed to do at a party?"

Maia doesn't make eye contact, finding the open concern on his face almost repulsive. "I don't know," he says. "I say do what you want to do."

Maia snorts and moves in the direction the girl with the shots had come from. "Funny, that's been going around lately. Later."

She's gone before he can say another word.

 

 

 

Simon has been replaying his speech in his head for the last twenty-four hours, which is bordering on a new level of obsessive even for him. Izzy isn't helping. She keeps sending him text after encouraging text, but all they're doing is making Simon spiral out. He can't stop running through the whole mental simulation again to try and figure out every variation. _Clary_ , is how he'll begin. _Clary, we've been best friends for a really long time, but…_

His phone buzzes with another _you're a Casanova, LSL_ message from Izzy that would make him laugh if anxiety wasn't twisting up his insides. He still isn't sure a party is the best place for this, but if worst comes to worst he can definitely count on Meliorn to get him stoned.

He makes the rounds a few times before he spots Clary in the family room off the kitchen, sitting on the arm of a sofa and nodding idly while Victor rambles. She looks promisingly bored, so Simon catches her eye with a wave. She only lifts a lazy hand in response before allowing Victor to whisk her off in the direction of the improvised dance space. She goes without looking back.

And it occurs to Simon that getting up the courage to _tell_ Clary isn't actually the scariest part of this. It's what comes after: it's her tense, awkward wince as she tells him she doesn't feel the same; it's distance infecting their friendship; it's watching her walk through the halls at school with Victor's arm around her shoulders. It's losing her. 

He turns his phone _off_ when it buzzes again.

 

 

 

Clary fumes all through her first beer, the spin around the dance floor, introductions to Victor's friends, and her second beer. Maia agreeing to come tonight had seemed like a step forward, a last-ditch attempt at saving the shreds of a sisterly bond that might not have ever existed, but it was just a way for Maia to tighten the leash. Clary doesn't understand why no one trusts her to do _anything_ , and it's more infuriating than she has words to express.

"And I was like, I know my angles," Victor's saying. "All the greats travel with their own lighting, and if they wanted it to look the best it possibly could —"

"Victor," Clary interrupts. "Can I ask you something?"

A smile curls the corner of his lips and he leans in close. "Of course you can."

"Why do you like me?"

He pulls back reflexively, searching her face. "What?"

The most infuriating thing is that Clary is beginning to think Maia had a point. "What do you like about me?" she says. "Because, you know, Victor, I'm trying really hard to figure out what I like about you. Sure, you're tall, you've got the accent thing going, you definitely know your angles. But —" Her hands come up, at a loss. "What does it _mean_?"

"You're getting a little existential, darling," Victor says. "How about another drink?"

The last year of Clary's life had felt like one of those games where you're stuck in a dark room and have to discover a way out. Everything was muffled, and there were always more exciting things happening beyond the four walls she'd built around herself; every little flash of light under the door was a tease, and no key fit in the lock. Distracting herself became easier than escaping.

Clary thought she wanted something that wasn’t real so it could keep her busy, but that isn’t what she wants at all.

"No, Victor, I don't want a drink," Clary says, patting him on the shoulder. "But maybe you can find another girl who does."

 

 

 

Jace has only caught glimpses of Maia all night: waiting in line at the keg, curling her fingers around the neck of a bottle, disappearing around the bend in a hallway. He's starting to wonder if she's been a hallucination this whole time, because the closer he gets, the farther away she seems. 

Of course, once she gets on the table she's pretty hard to miss. 

Jace hadn't realized that table dancing was a potential by-product of Maia drowning herself in booze and now that it's happening he has no idea how to stop it. She moves to the music with lazy-limbed drunkenness, a drowsy shadow of her dancing at Pandemonium. All the moves are there — she tosses her head and raises her arms, twirls and twists her hips — but the infectious, furious freedom of it is missing. Assholes hoot and holler, urging her on, and more than a few of their classmates have their phones out, filming. Jace sees Maia's sister watching through her fingers.

"Cool, that's enough, show's over," he tries, but Maia resists his attempts to ground her. She slips her hands out of his grasp and grumbles in protest, the crowd egging her on until one overly forceful jerk away from Jace causes her to knock her forehead into the low-hanging chandelier. He practically dives up onto the table to catch her before she falls.

Maia is dazed, but not so out of it that she can't push Jace away again. "Get off me, 'm fine," she mutters. He sets her carefully on the floor, but as soon as he lets go she sways dangerously.

"You are not fine," he says firmly. "You've already got a bump."

Her fingers feel gingerly over her forehead and she flinches, which only serves to make her nearly tip over again. "Okay, that's…not great, but I'm _fine_." She enunciates too much to overcompensate for any slurring. "I just need to rest…lay down. Sleep." A goofy smile splits her lips, erasing her annoyance. "Sleep is good."

Jace puts an arm around her waist and navigates towards the first empty chair he can find. "Not if you have a concussion it's not." 

Maia struggles to stay upright seated just as much as she did standing. Ice would be good, but he doesn't want to leave her alone, so he settles for gingerly pressing a bottle of water against her head. He'd been carrying it around half the night hoping to get her to at least take a sip. She fumbles for it now, ordering him, "Cap."

He twists it open and gives it back, watching with some relief as she downs a third in one long swallow. Then she pushes it towards Jace again. "I spit in that," she informs him.

"Delicious," Jace remarks, as though that's the most interesting thing he's heard in a while. "Don't tease me."

Maia puts a hand to her forehead again, lips twisting unpleasantly. "I really don't want to die at a house party on the Upper West Side."

Jace smiles. "If it looks like you're gonna be a goner, I'll be sure to put you on a train downtown."

She laughs a little but then groans, clutching her head. Jace makes the executive decision to move her into the kitchen for ice, a slow journey of stops and starts in which Jace has to glare at more than one person who tries to wolf-whistle Maia over her impromptu performance. Once there, he wraps a handful of cubes in a paper towel and instructs her to hold them to her temple.

"Hey," Maia mumbles, "Sad boy."

"I'm not really —" Jace starts, but she shoves his shoulder with unexpected violence before resting her arm on it so she can point past him.

"Over _there_ ," she says. "Sad Simon."

Jace glances over and sure enough, Isabelle's pet project is leaning against the opposite counter looking conspicuously miserable while nursing his own red cup. Jace isn't sure why he's supposed to care about this until Maia leans forward to call Simon over, loud in Jace's ear. "Seriously?"

"Just look at him," Maia murmurs. Her grip loosens on her ice pack so Jace has to hold it for her instead and he's surprised when she lets him, even more surprised when she slumps into him. "Used to like him until he… Until I realized."

"Realized what?"

She sighs. "Clary."

Jace doesn't comment further, remaining neutral as Simon wanders towards them like a mopey _Charlie Brown_ character. He's so wrapped up in his malaise that it takes him a minute to realize what he's witnessing, and seeing Maia rest drunkenly on Jace seems to register on his face in increasingly horrified increments. "Hey, Maia. Hey, Isabelle's scary brother… What's up?"

"Someone greeted a light fixture with her face," Jace explains. 

"And he's not scary, he's a punk," Maia says. "Why —" She waves a hand. "Are you?"

Simon smiles at her a little, slowly, and Jace feels… He clears his throat and adjusts his hand on Maia's back. "Is the wooing not going well?"

Simon shrugs with his entire body, a gesture so purposefully casual that it's clearly anything but. "No wooing. She doesn't want me, she wants him, it's — She wanted him the whole time, so she should have him." 

Jace and Maia stare at him. "That's very noble," Jace says.

"It's stupid," Maia decides. "Clary's all —" She starts swaying again as she gets revved up, and an ice cube slips free to skid across the floor. "She doesn't… She wants choices. She wants options, so she can — She needs all the information. Otherwise how can she know?"

"And seriously, you gotta stop feeling sorry for yourself," Jace adds. "Victor's a douchebag. And you seem…fine."

"Yes." Maia reaches to grab a fistful of Simon's shirt. "Simon. You are funny and cool and she loves you even if she doesn't _love_ you. You don't want to spend eternity obsessing over how stupid you are. You like her. Tell her before you lose your chance." She pushes him back, hard. "And stop whining about it."

Jace regards her with a weird mix of fondness and respect. "When she rallies, she really rallies."

Maia nods once, solemnly, and then suddenly gags. "I'm gonna puke."

"No, you're not," Jace tells her firmly, casting around for a garbage can when his eyes land on the French doors to the back garden. "Fresh air. Let's try that, maybe it'll help. Alright? Simon — break a leg."

Simon sets his jaw resolutely and pushes off into the crowd.

It's quieter outside, probably because no one else is out there. Meliorn's family is obviously protective of their garden space, because Jace had to jimmy the lock to even get the doors open. And to be honest, he gets it. The night is cool and the air smells like jasmine, the various vines and leaves turned dark emerald under the recessed outdoor lights. There's even an elegantly appointed swing set with carved wooden beams. "Nice night," he says.

"Nice night," she mimics childishly.

"You are not a nice drunk, you know." Jace eases Maia over and sets her down in one swing before taking the other.

"I'm not a nice anything," Maia says. "So why are you doing this?"

Jace presses the ice against her head again. "You might have a concussion."

"You don't care if I never wake up."

"Sure I do," he says brightly. "If I didn't have you, I'd have to start taking out girls who actually like me."

She snorts and pushes his hand away. "Like you could find one."

"See? Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?" Jace studies Maia as she wraps her fingers around the swing's ropes to keep herself steady. "So what inspired the booze cruise?"

Maia closes her eyes and lets her head loll against the rope, but she speaks before he has to worry about her falling asleep. "I hate Jordan," she sighs. 

His brow furrows in confusion. "Who?"

"Huh?" Maia shakes her head. "Victor. Guys like that are so entitled. They think the world owes them something. That people… That they have a right to people." Her hands tighten until her knuckles look sharp under her skin. "But that's not…" Much more softly, so at odds with everything that's hard about her, she says, "Sometimes I hate Clary too. Everything's just so easy for her, everyone's always falling all over themselves for her. And I just…"

She doesn't say anything else. After a minute Jace tries to break the tension. "Well, you've chosen the perfect revenge: mainlining tequila." 

Maia laughs, almost sheepish as she presses her smile into her curled hand. Jace ducks his head with a smile of his own, so he doesn't notice at first when her laugh tapers off into a soft _mmm_. By the time he glances back, her features have totally relaxed into sleep.

He jumps up immediately, patting her cheeks and jostling her, saying her name. "Come on, Maia, you can't fall asleep, come on —"

Maia's eyes open slowly, dreamily. "Hey," she says, her upturned face utterly without anger or artifice. "One of your eyes is brown. I never noticed."

Jace smiles at her. And she throws up on his boots.

 

 

 

Clary is more than ready to call it a night.

After dodging Victor for the better part of an hour while searching for a friendly face (she'd even take Maia's unfriendly one at the moment, though she assumes her sister has gone into hiding after that table thing), she's both exasperated and exhausted. Her feet hurt. All that beer made her bloated. Someone spilled their drink on her brand new dress. Clary had started the evening optimistic, but she's been disappointed in just about every way possible.

Seeing Simon in the crowd is like finding an oasis in the desert. She barrels towards him and throws her arms around his neck, soaks up his familiarity as though parched. "Thank god," she says, giving him an extra squeeze before she lets him go. "I was beginning to think I was in my own personal No-End House."

Simon smiles, but it's accompanied by an odd jerky fidget. He rubs the back of his neck. "Ready to go? I brought the van, I can — Do you want a ride home?"

"I absolutely do. I just have to get Maia — and have you seen Izzy?"

He nods. "Maia's with Jace, I think they're okay. Izzy's been blowing up my phone all night, she's _definitely_ okay."

Clary feels that annoying little twist in her stomach that she always gets when she hears about them talking without her. It's stupid; she shouldn't feel left out. "Awesome. Then let's get the hell out of here." She tucks her hand into the crook of his arm. "This was not as fun as I thought it would be. When you saw me before, I was in a full on internal crisis."

He relaxes slightly. "Oh no. What happened?"

Clary gives him a quick rundown as they head outside and walk two blocks down to where Simon had found a spot by the park. He nods along and responds, but there's still something not quite right about him. It's not that he isn't listening, but his attention seems scattered, like he can't focus on anything.

"Simon?" Clary pauses with her fingers on the van's door handle. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, no, yeah, I'm very okay." He gives her his typical toothy smile. "Hopefully."

Once inside, they keep their eyes forward. Simon fiddles with the radio but the music only highlights the lack of conversation, the odd vibe that carries them through quiet uptown streets and onto the noisy highway. There's a sinking sense of dread in Clary's stomach, thinking about how she hadn't seen him or Izzy all night, how Izzy kept talking about Simon on the train ride over. 

She would be happy for them. She would totally, definitely be happy for them.

No one ever got anywhere by tiptoeing, so Clary takes a deep breath and decides to plunge right into it. "I can tell you're holding something back," she says softly. "Did something happen with you and Izzy?"

He considers her curiously. "No," he says. "Why?"

Clary doesn't examine her relief too closely. "Oh. No reason. I just… You seem like you have something you want to say. I thought…"

Unexpectedly, Simon pulls off and parks alongside a row of storefronts. They're not that far from home, but far enough that it doesn't make any sense for him to stop here. Clary taps her fingers against the leather of her purse, restless. "Simon, what is it? I'm not telepathic, you know, not even with you."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out gradually. "Right," he says. "Okay." He lifts his gaze from the steering wheel so he can meet her eyes. "We've been friends — _best_ friends — for a long time. A really long time. And the last thing I'd ever want to do is screw that up, because it's — it's really important to me."

Clary's heart starts beating faster. "It's really important to me too."

He nods. "But… You know, sometimes when two people are friends — sometimes feelings evolve, you know? And the relationship, friendship, whatever it is, needs to change too." 

She frowns. "Why would you think that things —"

"If you're into Victor, then I want you to know that I'm — I'm there for you, like, no matter what." It seems a little painful for him to say, though. "But I had to tell you —"

"Simon," she interrupts. "Are you worried about what'll happen when one of us starts seeing someone? Because I —"

"No, see, that's — the thing is, I don't _want_ to see anyone," Simon tells her, his face so earnest and sweet. "Anyone _else_ , I mean."

Her heart is in her throat.

"I'm in love with you, Clary," he says, but he says it like he's already made up his mind to be rejected. "I know you might not feel the same way and it might make it weird that I told you, but —"

Clary grabs him by the collar and practically hauls him over the center console so she can kiss him. Simon starts in surprise, catching himself with one hand on the headrest and another on the half-open window, but moments later he moves it to cup her cheek, tilting her chin up carefully so the kiss can soften, deepen. When he starts to shift back a little, Clary holds tight to his shirt to keep him right where he is. He smiles and then laughs quietly, which makes her laugh, and she finally lets him go. Reluctantly. 

"We did that," he says.

She bites her lip but it's no use, she can't stop smiling. "We did."

Their eyes met and they both burst out laughing, something funny in how easy it was, how strange that this was new but not really new at all. "Was it, you know —"

"Weird?" Clary suggests, which sets off another round of helpless giggling. In the middle of it she reaches for him again, curls her arms around him to pull him closer. "Yeah. But that's why I like it."

He kisses her again and again and again.

 

 

 

After Maia rinses her mouth out fourteen times in one of the bathrooms (it's only stocked with weird herbal toothpaste that tastes like mint and licorice, which almost makes her vom again), she downs two more bottles of water and decides to make Jace pay her train fare. She thinks she's steadier on the walk to the station until she realizes how intensely she's concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. When she pulls her gaze away from her own studded boots, Jace is smiling.

"Shut up," she says, though he hadn't said anything. She notices his hands are in his pockets, not searching for a pack of cigarettes or twirling his lighter like she's seen him do so many times in the park by school. "You're not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke."

"Usual?" he repeats, a touch of teasing in his tone. "If you noticed, that must mean you're looking."

"No, it just means I have basic cognitive functions."

"She's got an answer for everything." Jace reaches out to take her by the elbow as they head down the steps. Maia considers jerking away but stairs are kind of daunting at the moment, so she chooses to let him help. It's the least he can do.

He releases her to swipe for both of them, and they go wait on the platform. Maia hasn't been drunk on the train in a long time, but she's suddenly reminded of how bright and strange it can be underground, oddly fuzzy and liminal. "What's with this?" she asks.

"What's with what?"

"Don't play dumb. This whole —" She waves her hand from the top of his head to his freshly cleaned boots. Affecting an exaggeratedly bro-y voice, she says, "'I'm Jace Wayland, Can I Get You Water? How's Your Head? Don't Fall Asleep and Never Wake Up Again!' Where did that come from?"

He doesn't answer, only says, "I hope that's not how I really sound."

Maia pushes his shoulder and laughs, though she doesn't mean to. "I didn't expect you to be the guy who keeps an eye on the drunk girl all night. Didn't you have better offers than being puked on? Or is that your thing?"

"You caught me." Jace peers down the tunnel for the train even though it's obviously not arriving. According to the departure board, it's still three minutes away. "To be fair, you don't really know what kind of guy I am."

Dryly, she says, "You propositioned me the minute we met."

His grin is abashed and cocky all at once; that's a skill. "Well, isn't sex how you get people to like you?"

Maia surveys him with dubious amusement. "I wouldn't know. Everyone thinks I'm scary." 

This smile is grimmer than the last. "Yeah, well, I'm no picnic myself."

"You don't have to tell me that," she says, watching him closely to see how he reacts, refusing to feel anything when he laughs.

They take the 1 to 14th and then walk five minutes to catch the L back to Brooklyn. It occurs to her that she doesn't actually know where Jace lives, if he's seeing her home out of a misplaced sense of responsibility that's taking him far out of his own way. She doesn't ask.

The train is crowded even at this time of night, but they get two seats at the far end; the wall of people makes it feel almost private. Maybe that's what inspires Jace to get inquisitive. "What you said before," he starts, and Maia freezes, but he finishes, "about your sister," so she can breathe.

"What about it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Seems like she was integral to the great tequila binge of 2018," he says. "Got issues?"

"She's a sore spot, sure." Maia crosses her arms as she slumps into the hard plastic seat, petulant and embarrassed that she'd even told Jace anything at all about Clary. "That's obvious."

"Mm." It's noncommittal, but he's watching her with interest. "Out with it."

Maybe the reason she starts talking is because he doesn't actually ask. He doesn't subject her to the tired _so, your sister's white_ shit she's already heard too many times, doesn't wonder how the same house could produce two such different girls. He's not holding her up next to Clary and asking why. 

Maybe he knows that she's been waiting to have someone to say all this to, though that might be giving him too much credit.

"My dad met her mom when she was seven months pregnant," Maia says. "She was trying to get divorced from this real asshole, and my mom had just left. They acted like they weren't dating for _years_ , like they were just in some single parent support group for two, or something. But it's, like, impossible for me to remember a time when they weren't there. Jocelyn and Clary."

Clary had never called anyone but Luke her dad. Maia never got the chance to remember any woman except for Jocelyn, her real mother blotted out of their lives before she'd ever really been in it. Luke probably thought that was better, but he'd never checked with her.

"I mean, it's so psychologically boring," Maia continues. "I get it. Dad's two for two on wives, so he's locking down his daughters. But it's — I wonder if he did this to _her_ , too."

Jace has been listening quietly, not pressing for anything, but now he asks, "Did what?"

Maia's fingernails scrape over the frayed patch in her jeans. "Wanted her to be someone she wasn't. And that's why she had to leave."

He tilts his head. "Who does he want you to be?"

Wasn't it obvious? Maia makes a sound like a laugh and does jazz hands for effect. "Clary." 

"Clary," Jace echoes with a nod, looking at her so carefully. She has no idea what he's thinking or what he'll say and not being able to predict him makes her anxious. She doesn't usually have the patience for that kind of thing. "My dad left too. Well. He wasn't my real dad."

Maia narrows her eyes. She had not expected that. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Jace scratches at his scalp absently, and it occurs to her that he has not looked more uncomfortable in the time she's known him. He's trying so hard to seem relaxed but all his springs are wound up tight. "It wasn't a great situation, before that. I — you know that part in _Jane Eyre_ , in the beginning? 'Heart in insurrection,' or whatever it was? That was how I felt all the time, even after, like I was this feral kid my parents ended up with after the first couple sets bailed."

Total whiplash makes her focus on the least important part. " _You've_ read _Jane Eyre_?"

This allows him to shift back into more familiar territory, and he grins again. "Why, haven't you?" The train pulls to a stop and Jace checks where they are before getting to his feet hurriedly, reaching for her hand. "This is us."

She doesn't let go immediately.

There's still a good twenty minutes of walking to get to the house, but Maia appreciates the slower pace and night breeze after being stuck in the racketing subway for so long. She's on edge, feeling exposed and not able to control it. Drinking makes you too honest, or late nights do, or boys who think it's funny when you scald assholes with hot soup. She should be more on guard than she is right now.

They aren't touching anymore, just walking side by side with their arms folded and bodies contained. They aren't talking either, until Jace breaks the quiet by saying, "Look, I don't know anything about your family. But I know you're smart and you work hard and you don't take shit from anybody, so if your dad wants you to be somebody else, then he's an idiot."

Maia gives him a sidelong look, but his expression is serious, almost reserved. He's not even looking at her. "Oh, so now you think you know me?"

"I'm getting there." His eyes meet hers. "I hope."

Jace follows Maia up the steps to the landing, seeing her directly to her door. She fits her key into the lock but doesn't turn it right away, instead leaning back against the wood and glass to look at him. For the first time that night she notices he's traded in his usual Hells Angels by Abercrombie look for something softer; he's wearing a white Henley and green army jacket, his hair slipping free from where it's tucked behind his ear. No bullshit for him to hide behind.

"You know." Maia sways toward him, curling her fingers in the fabric of his shirt and feeling the suggestion of his body beneath it. "You're not as vile as I thought you were."

Now his smile is just in his eyes. Maia closes her own so they won't reflect it, tilts her face up and waits. But instead of a kiss she feels Jace move away, his shirt slipping from her grasp. She blinks to find him half a step down, awkward and uncertain. "Maybe another time —" he begins, but Maia doesn't want to hear it.

Instead she forces the door open and slams it behind her, humiliation as thick in her throat as it had been at the start of the night.

That's what you get for giving an inch.  
 


	4. Fascinating New Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maia steps closer but the distance between them is far from bridged. "Don't for one second think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties."
> 
> Challengingly, Jace asks, "Then what did I have an effect on?"
> 
> She shrugs. "Other than my upchuck reflexes? Nothing."

Jace is itching for a cigarette. He's sitting on the hard iron arm of a park bench, watching Izzy lift bites of sushi to her mouth one by one, hyper-conscious of the school soccer team practicing in the field across the way. He can sense Maia there without even having to look, can still hear the slammed door ringing in his ears.

He shouldn't have gone so Method with the non-smoking thing.

"She's still not talking to you?"

Jace shakes his head as he digs a quarter out of his pocket. He and Izzy and Alec had become obsessed with learning how to do tricks with them over the last year, competing over who could master it the fastest or figure out some new twist. It's stupid and mindless, but it's a safe distraction, a way to stay centered. Rolling the coin over his knuckles gives Jace something to do with his hands besides smoke. "Still not talking to me. She blocked my number, too."

Izzy lets out a low whistle of appreciation. "She's hardcore." She's seated properly, as opposed to Jace's uncomfortable perch, so she's facing the girls on the pitch head-on. But now she turns slightly to Jace. "I don't get why you didn't just kiss her. Didn't you want to?"

Now he flips the coin, catching it in one hand and pressing it into the back of the other. Heads or tails, honest or not. "I wanted to." 

Izzy raises her eyebrows. "But?"

He can't explain it to her without getting into the whole thing with Victor, which is a conversation he'd rather not have. Izzy would be annoyed by his attempt to protect her, by his lying, by what he agreed to; it would be better to work it out on his own and avoid making more trouble than he needed to. It had already snowballed enough. It didn't need to be an avalanche.

That was why he couldn't kiss Maia, not yet. It wasn't fair.

He decides to tell her as much of the truth as he can, to make up for everything he isn't saying. "Didn't want to ruin it. It wasn't the right moment."

Incredulous, Izzy demands, "Since when do you care about picking the right moment?" She searches his face and then suddenly grins. "Wow. You're actually really into her, aren't you?"

Jace doesn't say anything, but nothing can dim Izzy's beam. She's always delighted by the vulnerabilities lurking under her brothers' emotionally stunted exteriors. "She _did_ have a rough night," Izzy continues. "It doesn't help that no one's ever gonna let her live down that table dance — which was totally hot, by the way."

"No comment," Jace says dryly. "She was drunk. People should get over it."

"Well, as we know from our old school, people tend not to waste their ammunition once they've got it." Her tone is resigned, which he hates, but excitement infects her moments later. "Ooh, you know what? I can ask Gretel. See if the ice is melting at all."

Now it's Jace's turn to survey Izzy with knowing amusement. "Since when are you chummy with Gretel Monroe?"

"Hm, what's that? Can't hear you." Lunch finished, Izzy stands to discard her trash. "Catch you later, bro." 

Jace laughs. He hops off the bench to get going too, but he can't resist looking for Maia first. Something in his chest lifts when he catches her gaze and he waves, hopeful, but her expression hardens. Then she kicks the ball so hard in his direction that Jace actually has to duck.

Izzy texts him two periods later. _Hates you with the fire of a thousand suns_ , she confirms with a series of crying emojis. _Try letting her cool off_.

Jace isn't sure there are enough days in the calendar for that.

 

 

 

Nevertheless, Jace tries.

He doesn't call Maia or text her, doesn't flash her wide grins across the room during English. He stops taking his lunch period in the park while she has practice. He tries to blow off Victor too, but that's easier said than done. 

"You know the sister and her friend are a thing now, right?" Jace has been stuck hanging out with them and Izzy, and the constant wide-eyed affection was stomach-turning. "Game over."

"Never say never," Victor replies, unbothered. "And I assume you'd still prefer certain things remained confidential, yes?"

Jace takes the cash just to shut him up. He's not overly concerned with the bruised egos of popular boys with money to spare, not as long as they keep their mouths shut. He's more concerned with Maia. He doesn't understand how something so small fucked everything up so majorly, and he doesn't know why it bothers him so much. 

Or why her shutting him out is like an itch under his skin all the time.

Sometimes he notices her ahead of him in the hallway and feels like a fish on the line, trailing after her until a turn takes her out of sight. He's drawn to her impatience, the proud set of her spine as she shoulders her way through the crowd. He hears from Simon that she got a new job bussing tables somewhere called the Hunter's Moon, and Jace rides past it on his way home even though he doesn't go in. When did this happen to him?

Sometimes he doesn't even seek her out. He's in the library getting a book for the stupid poetry assignment he probably won’t hand in when he notices Maia through the shelves. Framed between books, he can only see her in widescreen: from lips to collarbones, silver necklaces strung around her throat. He follows unthinkingly as she moves down the aisle until its abrupt end brings them face to face for the first time since the night of the party.

Jace plays dumb and disinterested, which he's good at. "Do you know where I can find Shakespeare's sonnets?"

Maia is not amused. "What are you doing here?"

"Would you believe I'm in a book club?"

She rolls her eyes, stepping past him. "You're so —"

"Charming? Wholesome?" Stopped halfway between one aisle and the next, their positions are inverted, the door now at her back.

Maia counters, "Unwelcome."

Like it's superimposed, he can see that sweetness hiding in the bones of her sullen face. And he knows suddenly that his ability to see that is what's making her so furious. "You're not as mean as you think you are, you know that?"

She scoffs. "You're not as badass as you think you are."

"Ooh, someone still has her panties in a twist."

Maia steps closer but the distance between them is far from bridged. "Don't for one second think you had any effect whatsoever on my panties."

Challengingly, Jace asks, "Then what did I have an effect on?"

She shrugs. "Other than my upchuck reflexes? Nothing." Her gaze shifts past him and she grabs something from the shelf, thwacking it against his chest before turning on her heel and exiting the library. He looks down at the book.

Shakespeare's fucking sonnets.

 

 

 

"What you have to do," Clary says knowledgably, "is even the score."

That's how it starts: a plot hatched in the art room before first period, a mix of sisterly insight and interference. Somehow it ends with Jace standing on a table in the cafeteria holding a microphone.

Clary is of the opinion that the only way to compensate for a perceived loss of dignity is to sacrifice a little of your own. Maia had been humiliated (a seemingly endless cycle once the video of her dance made it to social media) and rejected (after making herself so vulnerable, too) so to make things right Jace has to put himself in the same position.

Literally. 

He is not initially on board with this. He even says, plain and flat, "There's no way in hell I'm getting up there in front of everyone."

But he does it. 

He uses Victor's money to arrange something with the kids in charge of the audio equipment and extracts one clenched-teeth favor from Simon Lewis with the promise of payment at a later date. Then Jace flakes on algebra so he can slide into Maia's lunch period.

She's sitting in the far corner with Gretel, minding her own business, when he steps up onto one of the long white tables that span nearly the length of the room. The screech of the microphone brings chatter to a grinding halt as everyone turns to look at Jace. He grins. He brings the mic up to his lips and croons, "You're just too good to be true…" Simon's guitar kicks in moments later. 

He's too far away to hear, but he can see Maia's lips shape the words _oh my god_ with a kind of horror that seems to be half laughter, too. 

Jace makes his way down the table towards her like it's a runway, crushing the occasional plastic-wrapped snack in his path or knocking over a drink. Now that he's in the middle of this he has to give it his all, so he does: he peppers his routine with little skips and spins that make Maia bury her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Halfway through he unzips his jacket, so slow it's practically tooth by tooth, before he sheds it and throws it aside carelessly. His sweater follows, lobbed to another corner. Once he gets to Maia, the song nearly over now, he tugs his t-shirt off and tosses it to her, the cafeteria erupting in catcalls. But when he puts his hand on the button of his jeans, belting the last line, his performance comes to an abrupt end.

"Mr. Wayland!" interrupts one of the teachers, furious. "Will you please get down and put your clothes back on?"

Before he jumps down, he smirks at Maia and sees her smile in response, shaking her head. _You're an idiot_ , she mouths. He blows her a kiss.

That'll definitely give people something else to talk about. 

He's able to barter his way out a day's suspension, but detention cannot be avoided. He's half an hour into it (and he can't even check his damn phone to see if Maia's left him a message) when a school secretary comes to the door to pass something along to the faculty member in charge. They converse for a moment and then Jace is being ushered to the front of the room and out the door. 

Maia leans casually against the wall outside, arms crossed. "Congrats," she says. "You're out."

Jace is baffled but already smiling a little. "What did you do?"

"I had a conversation with the principal," she says lightly, pushing off and starting to walk. Jace follows. "I simply explained that you were _obviously_ protesting the lack of nutritious options made available in the lunchroom and that to punish you for it would silence the voices of students, which definitely wouldn't go over well if I made it a national conversation on Twitter."

He just stares at her, nonplussed.

Maia shrugs. "What? I'm good at arguing."

"I have never had someone blackmail the administration into getting me out detention for doing a lunchtime striptease," Jace says. "That's all."

She smiles. "Yeah, well, the principal and I both agreed that the internet's probably going to punish you enough for this."

"I don't know." Jace is feeling very light all of a sudden. "Seems like it was worth it."

 

 

 

Gaze bright and eyebrows arched, Maia asks, "You up for a challenge?"

Without missing a beat, Jace answers, "Always."

There's a gym she likes to go to after school sometimes so that she can pummel a punching bag for an hour or two, but she rarely gets the opportunity to have someone else in the ring with her. She decides to take Jace there post-jailbreak.

"Got a lot of aggression, huh?" he teases, his smile no more than an appealing curve of his lips. "Me too."

She knows that, but the confirmation is still unexpectedly satisfying. It's strange to look at someone and recognize something of yourself in them.

She has clothes here to change into, black sweatpants and a sports bra, but Jace ducks into the gym's handy store to get something of his own. He meets her at the ring ten minutes later in branded sweats and no shirt. Maia laughs. "Someone's feeling like a real show-off today."

"When you got it, flaunt it," Jace says.

Maia snorts, and without a pause delivers a kick that he easily dodges. He blocks the next two hits, his arms coming up solid against hers — and that's satisfying, too. Or it is until he catches her, restrains her with her back against his chest, a hand around her wrist. "So what's your excuse?"

Maia stomps on his foot and twists away. "For?"

They circle each other. "For acting the way we do."

She ducks one of his attempted strikes. "I don't like to do what people expect. Why should I live up to other people's expectations instead of my own?" 

"Protects you from disappointment?"

That hits too close; so does she. "Heads it off." 

"Hm." Jace mulls that over as he advances. "So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered?"

She laughs. "Sure, something like that."

"Then you screwed up."

"How?"

He manages to get both her arms behind her back, her chest against his. Her heart's racing, but she looks up at him defiantly. "You never disappointed me."

Maia's smile is tiny but reluctant, the kind she would rather keep to herself but can't seem to hold back. Then she knees him hard in the balls. "How about now?"

Jace tumbles to the mat with an _oof_ of pain, but he still has the presence of mind to sweep Maia's legs out from under her. She lands right next to him, _hard_. It makes her laugh and groan a little. She props herself up on her elbow so that she can look down at him — sweat making his skin shine, stupid tattoos trailing across his chest from collarbone to hip. There are bruises, too, and scars that she doesn't ask about. What draws her eye more than anything else is the look in his, the anticipation. The want. 

Maia plants her palm on the mat beside his head and pulls herself over so she's pressed against his side, skin to skin. He's flushed, hot to the touch. He tracks every move she makes but doesn't intervene except to curl his arm around her loosely. She likes that. Her fingertips coast along the slope of his cheek before she finally leans in and kisses him. 

It's softer than she thought it would be. Jace tilts towards her as he draws her closer, arm tightening around her waist, but it's so careful, so contained. Maia smoothes her fingers over his chest and the dizzy flutter of his heart beating makes her ears ring, her dull nails biting into his skin. She kisses his neck and his shoulder before she can stop herself but then pulls away, sits up. She has plans to pick up where they left off until Jace tugs her back, turns her towards him with a light touch, and kisses her again. 

This time when they part neither of them goes far. Forehead pressed to Jace's, Maia just — she lets herself have it, for a moment. "Best two out of three?"

His lips quirk at the corner. "If I can _stand_."

When they're done, tired and overheated and bruised, Jace walks her home. They split a warm street cart pretzel between them, trade off the same bottle of water. "Okay, okay, okay," Maia says. "Grand theft auto?"

Jace rolls his eyes. "Rumor. I paid for half the bike, my parents got the other half. It was a birthday present!" He steals the pretzel as retribution for her derisive snicker. "Cindy McCallaghan's nose job?"

"She's a big baby," Maia says, then allows, "Intentional. But you should have heard what she said to set me off."

"Deserved, then," Jace says. 

She likes that he accepts it without seeking more information. "The falcon?"

Jace laughs and shakes his head. "Fallacy. Who would eat a falcon?"

They've reached her place, but they sit on the stoop instead of going upstairs. "Alright," Maia says, tone already playful. "Were you really raised from the dead?"

There's a stagnant pause. "Not exactly," he says before he pulls up the hem of his shirt to point out the scar on his side, still pink. "My foster dad was…not a nice guy, let's say."

Her face falls and she shifts closer to him, covering the scar with her fingers. Jace takes her hand and kisses it. "Don't worry about it."

Maia isn't sure how that's possible, but she takes the hint and doesn't push. "Tell me something true," she says.

"Something true?" He thinks about it, and she can tell he's going to answer with a joke because his shoulders ease before he says, "I hate peas."

She smiles. "No, something real. Something no one else knows."

"Hmm." He tips her chin up to kiss her gently. "You're sweet. And sexy." He kisses her neck. "And completely hot for me." His lips move over her collarbone. "Do you know how long I've been waiting to do that?"

Maia bites her lip to keep that smile in check. "You are amazingly self-assured, has anyone ever told you that?"

He looks at her intently. "I tell myself that every day."

They both laugh.

Then Jace says, out of nowhere, "Go to the prom with me."

Maia shakes her head slightly into another kiss, amused. "Is that a command or a request?"

"C'mon, go with me."

She pushes his hair back out of his face. "No."

"No? Why not?"

"I don't want to," she says simply. "It's a stupid tradition."

"Oh, come on," he says again, before trying to appeal to her directly. "People won't expect you to go."

It had seemed like another joke at first, but his insistence is unusual. Suspicion straightens her spine, toughens her tone. "Why are you pushing this?"

"I look good in a tux." Jace gives her his brightest, most artificial grin — the one she hates, the one he uses to deflect. "And it makes for a much more impressive striptease."

Maia studies him silently until the force of her gaze makes something crumble around the edges of his expression. 

He sounds a little irritated, or maybe harried, when he says, "What, so now I need a motive to want to be with you?"

She knows right then that something is going on. "You tell me."

"You need therapy," he says, snappish. "I just thought it would be nice, okay? It’s a thing people do together. No motive. Just the pleasure of your company." His fingers dive into his jacket pockets but come up wanting. "God, I need a fucking cigarette."

"You quit," Maia says, voice hard. "Remember?" She gets to her feet, her sore muscles feeling less pleasant and more painful. "Unless that's just something else you're lying about."

He doesn't stop her when she goes.

 

 

 

Luke isn't budging on prom.

It doesn't matter how elaborate or creatively diverse Clary's arguments are, he laid down the law and he's sticking to it, only offering her variations on the same exhausting line: if Maia isn't going, then Clary isn't going. End of story.

And considering _prom_ seems to be a hot button issue for Maia lately, Clary's not hopeful. 

She had tried to use Luke's stubbornness to get Victor off her back — the one instance in her life where it would actually be useful — but it didn't seem to make a dent. He would pop up to walk her from class to class, trying his old smooth talking routine, and end it with another plea for her to reconsider about the prom. "Gee, wish I could," she finally said, totally devoid of inflection or emotion. "But you know the deal with my sister. I can't if she doesn't. And she's not."

"Oh, she's going," Victor had said, a touch of something ominous in it. "I'll make sure of it."

That had been at least a week ago, before Maia's already sour mood had taken another downturn. Clary had been so sure the song in the caf would have done the trick, but it looks like Luke isn't the only one in the family who won't yield an inch.

Which Clary gets. She won't either.

"You know I'm not haranguing you about the prom because of that older guy, right?" Clary says to Luke. "Simon asked me. Simon, who you've known since we were in the first grade. The Simon you coached in Little League. The Simon who would come on our camping trips. The Simon I'd trust with my life. Simon!"

"Yes, I'm familiar," Luke says wryly. 

"So is there a reason you're denying me a night of much-needed teenage normalcy? I though you'd be relieved that I want to be with Simon."

Of course, she's already _with_ Simon, if you count all the kissing in his van and his bedroom and the unused stairs at school. But Luke doesn't need to know everything.

"Look," Luke says, leaning forward to give her his Serious Dad Routine. "You know part of the reason I'm so strict about dating is because I want you girls to be a little bit older before you dive into something serious. Your mother married her first husband when she was just out of high school. She had no idea what she wanted, and it was something she always regretted."

"Yeah, because he was a psycho," Clary says. "Simon isn't. And, by the way, we're not getting married tomorrow — we just want to get dressed up and dance."

"That's how it starts!" Luke exclaims.

There's no talking to him.

Clary's moping about it in her room (despite Simon's very adorable text promise that if they couldn't go to the prom, they could definitely get dressed up and make out in the van) when Maia unexpectedly steps inside and closes the door behind her. She leans against it for a moment but doesn't speak.

"Hey?" Clary says uncertainly. 

"Hey," Maia says. "Listen, I — I think it sucks that you don't get to go to your antiquated mating ritual just because I have no interest in it."

Clary sits up, intrigued. "Thanks. But you know I don't blame you for Dad being insanely overprotective."

The tiny shift of Maia's eyebrows seems to indicate that she did, indeed, believe that. "Do you remember Jordan Kyle?"

The topic change confuses Clary, but she nevertheless ventures, "Sort of? The Australian kid?"

Maia nods a little and comes to sit on the edge of Clary's bed; Clary doesn't remember the last time she did that. "We went out freshman year." 

Clary blinks in surprise. She tries to remember that year, to sift through memories for anything unusual, some sign she might have forgotten. She was still in junior high then, but she couldn't recall Maia so much as mentioning a guy that she liked, let alone a boyfriend.

As if in answer to the look on Clary's face, Maia says, "It was a secret. At first because I knew Dad would flip, and then…" She clears her throat. "Because Jordan got weird and possessive. Controlling. So I broke up with him. And after that, he…" Her hand slides absently over the side of her neck. "Well. It doesn't matter, because he moved not long after. But I — He hurt me, is the point."

"Oh my god, Maia." Clary surges forward and takes Maia's hands, wants to wrap her up in a hug but is too careful of her boundaries. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I'm not bringing it up because I want you to feel sorry for me," Maia tells her. 

Clary surveys her carefully before she says, "Okay. So why are you telling me?"

"To _explain_ ," Maia says. "I won't pretend I wasn't misguided and…mean about it, sometimes, but I wanted to protect you from making the same mistakes I did. And maybe I have…kind of helped Dad hold you hostage in the process." She pulls her hands out of Clary's loose hold. "Maybe I wanted to punish you as much as I wanted to protect you. So I'm sorry. For that."

Clary waits until it's clear that Maia is done talking, then shifts forward and pulls her into a hug. Maia tenses but it only takes a moment for her to relax, sliding her arms around Clary in return. Clary draws her just a little bit closer. "I don't think you were the one who made the mistake," she says, voice muffled, before she starts to pull back — but this time Maia's arms tighten and hold on, which Clary doesn't mind at all.

 

 

 

Maia watches with a mix of amusement and apprehension as Clary sections her hair with the pointed end of a comb. "I can do this myself, you know."

Clary smiles at Maia in the mirror. " _Obviously_ , but part of the reason little sisters exist is so you can make them do stuff _for you_."

Maia allows that with a smile of her own. "True."

If it ever gets out that Maia's soft enough to let one heartfelt hug convince her to go to the prom just so her sister won't miss it, she's going to have to do some serious damage control. Then again, she supposes there are worse reasons to put on the dress and take a spin or two around the dance floor.

She'd texted Jace a very minimal _prom's on_ before permitting herself to be pulled into a whirlwind of preparations. The worst part was that it was hard to be surly about it when Clary was so genuinely excited to spend time together dipping in and out of stores, carting gowns into dressing rooms. Maia wasn't stupid; she didn't think their issues vanished into thin air after one emotional conversation. But the way Clary was trying to cross the distance made her want to do the same thing, for maybe the first time.

Maia went home with a dark red crushed velvet sheath dress. It clung but didn't suction to her body, and it ended just below her knees. It was not a prom dress. It was just a dress she was wearing to the prom. Clary assured her she could wear it with boots, saying, "It'll look totally punk," with the complete authority of someone who only sort of knew what they were talking about.

She and Clary even match a little, though Maia doesn't realize it until they're standing side by side in the bathroom before the main event. Clary's dress is decidedly more princess-y, a full-length creation of tulle and embroidery that she'd wrenched from a sale rack like a hunter carting off a kill, but its cranberry tones are a nice accompaniment to Maia's crimson. 

The hair is the finishing touch. Clary carefully braids a series of thin, tight plaits on the right side of Maia's head, leaving the rest of her hair its usual soft explosion of curls. Clary finishes with a flourish, affixing a shining gold comb behind Maia's ear. "Ta-da!"

"Not bad," Maia offers, leaning in close to inspect. She meets Clary's eyes in the mirror again. "Makes me miss your mom."

Jocelyn had always been on hand with quick fingers to do Maia's hair when she was little, until resentment made her pull farther and farther away.

Clary smiles, small and sad. "Yeah," she agrees, quiet. "Me too." She squeezes Maia's shoulders. "Come on, everyone's waiting."

Isabelle had flat refused to crowd into the back of Simon's van in a nice dress, so there's a towncar idling outside that Maia is expected to pile into. She'd almost rather ride in on the back of Jace's bike than do something as painfully typical as take a fancy car to a high school dance, but Clary grabs her hand and drags her in and that's that.

Inside, Maia receives the first of several surprises: Gretel is sitting there after _explicitly_ telling Maia that she wouldn't be caught dead at the prom, and she's holding Isabelle's hand. With Gretel in black and Isabelle in silver they look like some kind of mirrored matched set. If Maia wasn't so happy to see Gretel, she'd be deeply offended at being kept in the dark.

"You asshole!" Maia exclaims. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Gretel shrugs one shoulder with exaggerated elegance like an old Hollywood starlet. "I'm a woman of mystery," she says, and they both laugh.

"Well, if I'm suffering, I'm glad you're here to suffer, too," Maia tells her, to which Gretel offers a solemn nod.

"Those are the rules of friendship as I understand them," she says.

And then there's Jace.

They hadn't spoken much between their arguments and the arrangements, but there's no tension to be found in his casual sprawl in the corner of the limo. Maia slides over to him — not nervous, not worried, nothing so pedestrian as that, but curious to see how things will be between them now. He sits up as she gets closer and runs a light touch down her bare arm, dusted with shimmer at Clary's insistence. "You look beautiful," he says, a little odd and formal, which is when Maia remembers that Jace shows discomfort by acting like he doesn't feel any at all.

"You too," she tells him, which is true. 

"Told you I looked good in a tux," he says, corner of his mouth lifting.

"And better out of it, from what I recall." She feels calmer, looking at him, and in control. "I'm sorry about the other day — that I questioned your motives. I can be a little —"

Jace shakes his head before she can finish, already leaning in, his hand coming up to caress her neck and jaw. "You're forgiven," he says. "And it doesn't matter anyway, right? We're here."

"Here we are," Maia agrees. When they kiss it releases something she hadn't realized she was holding onto. She's relieved. 

 

 

 

Prom is not the worst time Maia's ever had.

Color her more shocked than anyone, but it's true. The music sucks, sure, and normally she'd rather be dipped in boiling oil than spend any prolonged time with this much of the student body, but the event is not with its pluses. One is watching Clary bop around excitedly with Simon; another is seeing Gretel grin when Izzy spins her. 

But the main reason prom proves itself bearable is because Maia lets herself enjoy it: it's corny and crowded and cliché, but she lets herself sink right into it anyway. For a minute she doesn't worry about anything except dancing with a pretty boy under some twinkling lights. And it's fun.

"Alright," Jace says, whirling their joined hands over Maia's head in a quick little turn. "You wanted something true? Izzy and I transferred from our very expensive, very strict private school —"

"Upper East Side Lowood," Maia supplies.

"Upper East Side Lowood," Jace agrees. "But without the consumption." He pulls her in close to his chest. "Well, maybe metaphorically."

Maia laughs, then prompts, "You left because…?"

"Because," he leans in towards her, conspiratorial, "we had the year from _hell_."

"Define, please."

Jace spins her out and back in; Maia loops her arms around his neck. "Our parents got divorced, which turned out to be the high point," he says. "Izzy spent ninety days in rehab, during which time I got into a bunch of fights and finally ended up in the E.R. thanks to the aforementioned foster dad showing up out of the blue. Wouldn't recommend."

She curls a hand around his lapel so he can't distract her with another dance move. "Jace," she says softly, aching.

Jace presses a kiss to her cheek and then the corner of her mouth. "Cheer up, it's the prom," he says. "I'm not trying to bum you out. I just want you to know everything. That's it. That's all there is."

"I'll try not to get _bummed out_ ," she says dryly, leaning into Jace as his hands slide around her waist. "Thank you for telling me."

He smiles and lowers his head. "Thank you for —"

But whatever he's about to say is lost to Victor Aldertree's sudden appearance. He whirls Jace around by the shoulder. "The hell is that loser doing here with Clary?" he demands. "I didn't pay you to take out Maia so that some little punk could snake me with her sister."

Maia's entire body goes ice cold but she's prepared to let it roll off her shoulders, prepared to laugh off Aldertree's idiocy, until she looks at Jace. His expression is so quietly stricken, so resigned, that she knows immediately that it's true. She feels like she's going to throw up.

"No motives, huh?" she says, but she's pushing her way through the crowd towards the doors before he can answer. Not that there's anything he could say for himself.

Jace shakes off Victor's hand to go after her. Raj and Duncan, who had trailed after Victor as they usually did, exchange low whistles. "Owe me fifty," Duncan says. "You lost the bet."

"Aw, man," Raj complains, digging out his wallet. "I had faith. Really thought he'd nail Fray tonight."

Behind them comes Isabelle's voice, dangerously: "What?"

Raj turns, starting, "Oh, we had a —"

Duncan cuts him off with a hand thwacked against his chest. "Stop talking, man."

Isabelle storms over to Victor, Gretel watching warily from a few feet off. "You think you can get away with anything, don't you? That you can manipulate people and there'll never be any consequences?"

"I don't remember asking your opinion," Victor says. "Sobriety has made you quite sanctimonious. Still bitter about old times? Don't blame me because you couldn't hold your opiates."

Isabelle stills, but then says, "You're one to talk about being bitter. Still mad I wouldn't go out with you, even when I was high?"

He rolls his eyes, jaw clenching. "Why don't you go back to your _friend_ ," he says, voice dripping with disdain. "I have to say, now that I know this about you it all makes sense. I thought you were just a slut but turns out —"

Isabelle's hands curl into fists and Gretel charges forward, but before either of them has a chance to pounce, someone taps Victor on the shoulder. As soon as he turns, Clary's knuckles slam into his nose. Once, and then a second time while he's still reeling.

"What the _hell_ , Clarissa," he cries out, fingers flying up to shield his face.

"That's for Isabelle," Clary says. "And for Maia." She takes him by the shoulders and brings her knee up into his stomach, hard. "And that? That's for me."

She doesn't pay him so much as a glance as he crumples to the ground, neatly stepping over his legs to wrap Izzy up in a hug. Then she pulls back, searching Izzy's face. "Are you okay?"

Isabelle smiles. "I'd watch that on repeat if I could."

They hug again before Clary leaves her to Gretel. She draws Izzy away, saying, "I can't believe I didn't get to punch him myself."

Isabelle kisses her on the cheek. "It's the thought that counts."

Clary returns to Simon, who's waiting with two bottles of water and an impressed look on his face. "I leave for two seconds, Fray."

She smiles sheepishly and holds up her hand. "They never tell you how much it's gonna hurt your knuckles."

He shifts his grip on the water so he can take her hand and press his lips to the reddened skin. "Can I just say that that was way hotter than it had any right to be?"

She laughs and pushes him half-heartedly so he can't actually go anywhere. "Shut up."

"You're a badass, Fray," he tells her, like it can't be helped. "It's official."

Clary loops her fingers around his tie and pulls him in for a kiss. "I'm glad you think so," she says. "Because this badass has to punch and run so I can see how my sister is doing." She pauses. "And maybe give Jace a piece of my mind while I'm at it."

"Accepted and supported," Simon says with a nod, kissing her again for good measure.

 

 

 

"Maia!"

Jace rounds the main doors and spots her stalking across the lobby to the exit. She doesn't stop (not that he really expected her to) so he races to catch up, reaching for her arm as soon as he's close enough.

Maia jerks away. "Don't _touch_ me."

He pulls back. "If you could just give me a chance to explain —"

"What could you possibly say?" she exclaims, incredulous. "You went out with me so that you could get some pocket change from the biggest asshole on the planet. Oh, no, wait — turns out that's you." She shakes her head, scoffing, "You wanted me to know everything, huh?"

Jace swallows. "It wasn't like that. Just let me —"

"Really? What was it like? A down payment now, and then a bonus for sleeping with me?"

"I didn't care about the money, he — he was going to tell everyone about Izzy and my dad and I —" 

"Oh, so you were blackmailed into dating me," she remarks. "That makes me feel _even better_."

He blows out a breath. It seems so stupid in retrospect. No one who mattered would give a second thought to the fact that Izzy used to party with Aldertree, or that Jace had a nightmare or two in his past. But he'd seen firsthand how much Izzy had been hurt by the gossip at their old school. And he couldn't stand the thought of everyone knowing the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Knowing that almost all the awful rumors were true.

"Maybe that's how it started," Jace says. "But I care about you, I fell for —"

"You are so not who I thought you were," Maia says. "God. I _apologized_ to you. And you let me."

What's worse than the anger is the pain he can see in her eyes. He wishes he could just erase it, go back and undo every stupid choice he made. Action has always been easier for Jace than trying to find the words, so he reaches for her again, thinking she would get it if he could just kiss her, if he could just say everything he had to that way instead.

Maia shoves him back, disbelief etched in her expression. "Fuck you," she says, and continues towards the doors. They snap shut behind her with finality. 

Jace is frozen to the spot as Clary skids to a stop behind him, both of them staring at where Maia had just been.


	5. Not Even At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> English is the only class Jace has with Maia, so now he never misses it even though his attendance had been spotty in days past. It feels like the misery is palpable between them, each in their separate corners of the room, Maia fixated on the board and Jace fixated moodily on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final installment! :) Hope you guys have been enjoying it!

Maia sits ensconced in the window seat in the living room, book open in her lap but attention focused on the street below, absently watching people take their babies to brunch and walk their dogs. It's a beautiful day, bright and sunny, but she doesn't feel it. 

"Maia?"

Clary stands in the doorway, uncertain of her welcome, so Maia offers her a wan smile. "Hey."

Clary's shoulders relax; they're still getting used to trusting each other, to being friendly instead of venomous. She comes over to perch on the other end of the bench. "How're you doing?"

She says it with such gravity that Maia answers wryly, "I'm not dying."

"I know. But you didn't exactly have the best night."

She doesn't need the reminder, but instead of snapping she helps to preserve this new dynamic they're trying so hard to maintain. "I know. But I'm okay — promise."

"Do you want to talk about J—"

"Nope," Maia cuts her off firmly. A moment of awkward quiet lingers before she asks, "So where are you off to?"

"Simon and I are going to one of those boozy painting classes."

Maia raises an amused eyebrow. "Boozy?"

With an abashed smile, Clary says, "We _may_ have acquired some very convincing fake I.D.s."

"Someone's taking her new freedom and running with it."

Clary laughs. "Might as well. Do you want to come?"

Normally Maia would think this was a pity invite, and her skin prickles instinctively at the thought. But Clary is just trying to be nice by including her. "Thanks but no thanks, sis."

Clary nods like she was expecting that. "Consider it an open invitation,” she says. "And thank you, you know. For last night. It really meant a lot to me."

Maia's smile is slight but she means it. "I'm glad."

After she's gone, Maia returns to people watching, but it's not long before she becomes aware of the fact that she's being watched, too. "What is it, Dad?"

Almost guiltily, Luke steps through the doorway. "You got in pretty late last night."

"Yeah, well, after the prom we hooked up with this gang of bikers. Shotgunned beers and drag raced until dawn."

"Hilarious," Luke says dryly. He comes over to take the spot Clary had vacated. "Tell me about this dance. Everything John Hughes made it out to be?"

Maia makes a faint sound of amusement. She has no intention of divulging how the evening ended for her, but she does say, "It had its moments."

"Like?"

"Like Clary wailing on some guy. I heard she broke his nose."

"Clary did _what_?!"

Maia rolls her eyes. "Upset I'm rubbing off on her?"

"No," he says, and seems genuine when he adds, "Impressed."

Her surprise must be obvious, because the smile Luke gives her is almost contrite. "You know, it's tough when your kids make it clear they don't need you anymore. You have to resign yourself to being a spectator in their lives. Clary still lets me play a few innings. You've had me on the bench for years. When you go to San Diego, I won't even be able to watch the game."

Rising excitement cuts through last night's malaise. " _When_ I go?"

"Don't tell me you changed your mind," Luke says. "I already sent them a check."

Maia knows the gesture is not an empty one; it's not just her dad trying to appease her, or smooth over the familial discomfort that has haunted their home for years. It's him saying he trusts her. It wasn't disapproval making him fight her at every turn — it was fear.

She sets her book aside and sits up to put her arms around him, face pressed into his shoulder. When she feels him pat her back, she smiles — her first truly real one all day.

 

 

 

Isabelle doesn't look up from her phone when Jace flings himself pathetically over the end of her bed. "You'll get no sympathy from me," she says. "You dug this grave yourself."

"I _know_ ," he says, muffled by the duvet.

Her gaze flicks up and she takes in his sad sprawl with a sigh. "You shouldn't be embarrassed about what happened last year. I'm not. I wouldn't have cared if Aldertree hired a plane to sky-write 'Isabelle Lightwood Is A Drug Addict' over the school. I know who I am. I don't need protecting."

"I know that too." Jace pushes himself up to sitting and meets her eyes remorsefully. "I'm sorry. You have no idea how much."

"Hm." Isabelle studies him for a moment. "While it was _insanely stupid_ , I do get where you were coming from. I can understand the instinct." She tilts her head. "I love you, bro. Even though you're an idiot."

With a huff of a laugh, he says, "Thanks, Iz. I appreciate it."

"You better," Isabelle tells him, before asking, "Have you tried to talk to her?"

Jace shrugs, looking away. "She doesn't want to hear from me."

Isabelle isn't sure how true that is, but her days of meddling in the affairs of her siblings are officially over. For the most part. "This is not an offer of help, _but_ I will say that you should find a way to make it up to her. And make it good. I'm talking multiple zeroes." 

"I don’t think Maia's the kind of person who's swayed by expensive gifts," he says. "Sure your new girlfriend doesn't want to give me some more insight? Worked out well the first time."

"She doesn't need to do you any more favors, she already got me," Izzy says with a cheeky grin. "You're on your own this time." 

Jace heave a dramatic, long-suffering breath but then seems to deflate, looking at her with an expression that's already hopeless. "Do you think there's a chance she'll forgive me?"

Izzy shrugs, but her voice is gentle when she replies, "Don’t know until you try."

 

 

 

Maia slams the box down on the table in front of Jace. "Wow. You must have a death wish."

A ripple of diverted attention runs through the tables around him as students in the cafeteria start to take notice. It's only been a week since prom, but it hadn't taken long for what happened to make its way through the rumor mill. Even if it hadn't, a Maia Roberts meltdown is fairly legendary. She must be missing practice to come yell at him. Jace is just glad she's _looking_ at him.

"What?" he asks. "They don't fit?"

He'd gotten her a pair of sparring gloves — leather, hand-stitched, moisture-wicking, the works — and left them in her locker after a creative fifteen minutes spent cracking the lock. He used what was left of Victor's money, and a nice chunk of his own change, too.

"Are you kidding me?" Maia says. 

All he wanted was to get her attention — and maybe remind her that he does know her, that things between them were real even if the impetus to ask her out came from the wrong place. "If you would just talk to me —"

She silences him with a hand. The look in her eyes is deadly. "This isn't funny. This isn't cute. You can't buy me something or sing me a song." Her voice lowers so the interested parties surrounding them are less privy. "I trusted you. Do you get that? I don't give that away easily. And you broke it."

Despair creeps through Jace with an intensity he does not expect. "You can still trust me."

"Tell me how." She says it simply, straightforwardly, but Jace has no idea how to begin to do that.

Instead he tries to be charming, but his smile is weak and the whole thing falls flat. "How about we kiss and make up instead?"

Faux-brightly, Maia says, "Or I could just rip your face off," before she turns to leave.

Resigned, Jace mutters to himself, "That's another way to go."

 

 

 

English is the only class Jace has with Maia, so now he never misses it even though his attendance had been spotty in days past. It feels like the misery is palpable between them, each in their separate corners of the room, Maia fixated on the board and Jace fixated moodily on her. 

"All right, my little miscreants," Mr. Fell says. "The time has come to dazzle me with your poetry assignments, if you have remembered to do them — and I hope you have, because they're worth half your grade." The class greets him silently. "Any takers?"

Jace drums his fingers on his desktop before thrusting his hand into the air, never one to back down from a challenge. Even a challenge like this.

Mr. Fell raises his eyebrows. "Mr. Wayland, how unexpected." He gestures expansively at the front of the room. "Please, be my guest."

Jace grabs his notebook and makes his way up, sensing Maia's eyes on him but not giving in to the temptation to look. He takes a deep breath. He's more nervous than he anticipated. "I want you," he starts. "Not nicer or kinder, softer or sweeter. I want you, even if you don't ever forgive me." He clears his throat but that doesn't seem to take the hoarseness out of his voice. "I want you because you're sharp and hard and tough. I want you because I know underneath you're not." 

He wasn't even going to _do_ the stupid assignment, to rewrite one of the sonnets, but he'd been stuck in his room thinking about her so often lately that it seemed like he might as well. "I want you to keep me for as long as you keep me," he continues. "I want you because you scare the shit out of me." His voice wavers. "I want you because I'm not used to letting myself be scared."

There's a lump in Jace's throat, thinking of what he did to her, how badly he hurt her. She's the last person he would ever want to hurt, but it seems he's just not capable of anything else. Destruction really is the only thing he's good at, just like dear old dad used to say.

"I want you because I only like me with you." Jace has built an ever-evolving fortress of bullshit around himself, but Maia has never been fooled. She sees him. He still doesn't know if that's good or bad but it makes him want to be worthy of the trust she placed in him, short-lived as it was. 

"I want you," he says, quieter now but no more controlled. Before he can help it, a tear slips down his cheek. "I want you. That's it."

Jace finally looks at Maia. He finds her jaw set tightly and eyes downcast, but glossy. He loses whatever he'd had left, his last shred of resistance, and covers his face as he takes a shuddering breath. He hears footsteps, the door opening and closing as she walks out. He doesn't pull his hand away until she's gone.

 

 

 

Maia watches the flood of students fill the sidewalk when school lets out, waiting for one particular person to extract himself from the crowd and make his way towards the motorcycle where she's sitting. It takes a while for Jace to appear, his eyes fixed on the sidewalk and shoulders slumped. She doesn't wait for him to notice her.

"Hey, pretty boy!" Maia calls out. "Nice poem."

His head jerks up. She can pinpoint the exact moment unhappiness turns into edgy anticipation. "I don't know," he says. "It kind of emptied the room."

He crosses the last gasp of sidewalk between them in just a few strides, but he manages to look like he isn't hurrying towards her. Maia can respect that.

"You _cried_ ," she says. His eyes are still red.

Jace laughs, shaking his head with evident embarrassment before he takes that final step forward to bury his face in her neck. He doesn't touch her in any other way, one hand still holding the strap of his bag and the other hanging at his side, but the sudden intimacy of it is startling. Maia hesitates but then drapes her arms around him. She closes her eyes and just holds onto him. Feels him under her hands.

"I think it's nice that you cried," she says.

Jace turns a little to kiss her collarbone, his face tucked against her skin. "I'm in love with you," he says softly. 

Maia's fingers bite into the leather of his jacket. "Shut up," she murmurs, but there's a catch in her voice. "You know, you can't just write me a poem every time you mess up."

He straightens, and she immediately misses the contact. "It's promising that you already anticipate me messing up again."

"I'm not stupid." Resistance curls into a fist in Maia's stomach, but it's just fear; it's nothing she has to listen to. She draws him down by the collar of his shirt so he's close enough to kiss. "Actually, maybe I am, because I'm in love with you, too."

His sudden grin sparks something inside her, the opposite of that wary tightness. When he cups her face in both hands and kisses her, she surges up off the bike and into his arms, wrapped up tight. It's a kiss full of longing and relief, a kiss she’s wanted to give him since he sat her down on a swing set in someone else’s garden. "See," Jace says, still so close, "I told you we should just kiss and make up."

"You were cuter when you were crying," Maia tells him. He laughs, and she can't help kissing his smiling mouth even though it's hard when she's smiling so much, too.


End file.
